


This Long Silence

by dugindeep (hotsauce)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, F/M, Hurt Jared Padalecki, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Jensen, Protective Jensen, Sheriff Jensen, outbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen serves as the young sheriff of Morgan Falls, a town in the middle of nowhere that never has much happen. Until the residents start to turn, becoming violent and attacking one another. While trying to manage the chaos, Jensen is concerned with tracking down his neighbor, Jared, who's been hauled out of town with others in the quarantine. As Jensen becomes more desperate, those around him are clueless to his obsession, and he begins to recall how he and Jared became so close. Their sleepy town will never be the same, nor will Jensen and Jared. </p><p>Inspired by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Crazies_%282010_film%29">The Crazies</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Morgan Falls boasts a population of six hundred and seventy-two. It's the largest small town for at least a hundred miles in each direction, crops tangling as far as the eye can see and leaving vast, open spaces within Morgan County.

When the town first rose from the ground, farming was a way of life, not a job. Every year, boys were recruited by tired fathers and hungry mouths. Duty became pride, and so they stayed and sowed the earth. They built a community. 

Each decade, fewer farms remain in operation, but the families stay the same. Blue collar workers and office folk travel into the far reaches of the county – and sometimes beyond – for an honest wage. Brothers and sisters teach each other through the years, tutoring and double-checking homework while dinner bubbles on aging stovetops. Fathers head indoors to a full table and lead the family in grace before each meal, clothes soiled but hands washed. 

The Morgan High Mustangs are the best entertainment in town; football on cool fall nights and baseball on bright Saturday mornings draw the entire county together. Solidarity is shared within every home when the teams bring home a conference championship and tears go unspoken when they don’t. Academics aren’t a point of pride but a fact of life; students pass every year but there are few mathletes or English scholars. Clubs are more social than educational, and despite the staff’s best efforts, extracurricular activities fall off each semester.

And for those who have no want for sports or school clubs, the county mall – a handful of shops operating in a space that could hold a dozen – is just twenty miles outside of town. It’s gone south along with the local economy, but stores keep it open for weekend tourists or teenagers looking for a place to hang out.

If you get a job in public service, residents nod and smile more often. It’s not a written rule, just an unspoken tradition. It’s what Jensen noticed when he first wore a uniform. Beyond the added admiration when they say _Sheriff_ , Jensen’s discovered that the entire town gives him a second or two at the end of each of his sentences to ensure he’s done and a few feet of distance when they approach.

He accepts the respect just as he honors his duty. These people give him space and he returns the favor. So long as they don’t dig too deep into his life, he lets them live theirs. 

He wears the badge with pride. And always with a subtle smile, always with a _thank you, ma’am_ and a _very well, sir_. He knows enough to do so.

It wasn’t always that way.

As a young boy, Jensen was never without a broad smile and a spark to his eyes. He followed his father through the fields, hauling corn and cabbage heads, and patted the cows while his big brother Josh milked each one. Nearly every dinner ended with his mother's homemade pie smeared across a white saucer.

Eventually, he escaped to the pastures with boys and girls his own age. Their time was innocent with games of tag until moonlight was all they had. But soon enough, it turned into raucous behavior when they hit high school and Steve Carlson hijacked the Parsons’ riding lawnmower and crafted his own crop circles in their fields. Or when Christian Kane became the Pastor’s greatest nightmare, sneaking the man’s daughter out at night while Jensen stood on the doorstep and asked about God and perdition and repentance then left with a broad smile, forgetting most of what had been said by the time he found his friends on the next patch of farmland.

As decades passed, many of the wheat and cornfields have been abandoned, leaving acres of nothingness. Just big, wide open spaces between the six towns that make up Morgan County. Most farmhouses sit empty as families have escaped for something more.

Josh married Suzanne Elker, the high school principal’s daughter, and swept her half a state away with the promise for more than farming. His little sister Mackenzie ran off to Chicago for college and Big City Living.

Halfway through his senior year, Jensen enrolled in the Army intent to see another world before he’d have to return to the fields, and the service was the best bet in town.

While he stood guard in the dusty air of Iraq, Jensen learned his parents had, too, gotten out. Their exit came in the form of an eighteen-wheeler that jack-knifed on Interstate 4. 

Following four years of service, Jensen returned to Morgan Falls and stayed when no other Ackles did, or could. Despite invitations to join his siblings in new states, he remained on the farm, selling off the more valuable patches of land and keeping to himself in the main house. 

Odd jobs carried him for a year or so until he felt the pull of duty and walked into the Sheriff’s office. Twenty-four and now restrained, beaten down by the desert and the loss of family and friends, he nodded at the deputy and asked for an application. Ten years later, Jensen was pinned Sheriff of the biggest town as far as the eye could see. 

The population of Morgan Falls dwindles with each generation, and crops suffer. Those who are still here are comfortable, resigned to keeping their worn-in homes on the earth they’ve built. Pride keeps them here, even while many talk about a greater life waiting for them beyond the county lines. 

But soon, Jensen learns that Morgan Falls will disappear completely.


	2. Part One

It’s a quiet Monday at the station. 

Jensen’s used to a few calls of busted farm equipment or trampled crops from bored teenagers or college kids home for the weekend. Sometimes, someone finds Danny Sommers passed out on a front porch after far too many Sunday beers. It’s all harmless fun that riles up nosy neighbors. But there’s little trouble brewing today, and Jensen takes the time to enjoy his first cup of coffee in his office. He leans back in his chair and flicks the County newspaper open to keep him company through the silence.

The department had been renovated four years ago as the second major improvement Jensen had insisted on; the first being the stoplight at Second and Main streets. Soft birch paneling spans the walls to meet eggshell ceilings and speckled cream floor tiles. It always feels clean and bright enough with little need for artificial light, but bland as heck. Just like his tan shirt-and-pants uniform. He supposes he can’t be choosy when it comes to these things. He’s thankful his office is set back from the main bullpen, and that the holding cell is more like a large closet with a deadbolt to keep up appearances. He likes to think they’re not in the business of locking up criminals, more like a central base in case of emergency.

Maggie Evans is at the front desk doing much the same as Jensen on this slow day, but her hand is inches from the CB radio just in case Deputy Abel calls in an incident or a trucker in need of a tow. The fifty-something mother of five has been at that counter since before Jensen joined the service, and he doubts her blond, tight curls have changed much over time. The only noise she makes is the gentle tap of self-manicured nails on the desktop and a soft smack of her gum as she, too, scans the paper.

Jensen can’t bring himself to mind. He keeps on reading.

When his coffee gets low, he leaves his office, stopping short when Maggie spins in her chair and rises. 

“Sheriff,” she smiles and nods.

“Maggie,” he replies.

“You need anything?”

“Just some coffee,” he says, lifting his mug in the air. 

Maggie follows as Jensen moves toward the counter where there’s a Black and Decker keeping half a pot of coffee just above lukewarm. She rattles on, as always. “So, I hear the Manns’ barbeque was pretty light this weekend. Did you have a chance to go? I would have but Frank’s heel spurs were killing him again and I couldn’t manage to leave the man be without some ice and regular doses of Asprin and warm milk.”

She must be bored, but he doesn’t bite. For all that they work in tandem for police business, he’s not interested in town gossip, especially given how she’s always up for it herself. Jensen snorts lightly, shaking his head with a smile as he tops off his coffee with a quick shake of powdered cream.

“I don’t know how you stomach that stuff,” she says quickly. “I brought in a jug of whole milk this morning. I got a crate from Hardy’s farm just yesterday.”

“Gotta watch my figure,” he returns with a flat smile. 

Even as he steps away, she pinches his side, forcing him to shirk away with wide eyes. When mornings are this quiet, she gets a little anxious. It’s not too surprising, so he simply raises an eyebrow and gives her a long look. “You going for sexual harassment, Mrs. Evans?”

She rolls her eyes as she swats at his shoulder. “You gonna use your handcuffs?”

He huffs a little laugh, used to her humor, understanding that it never means a thing because she’s spent the last four years trying to set him up with any woman she’s crossed paths with. He’s spent just as long twisting away from the offers. 

“They’re reserved for hardened criminals,” he replies. 

“So, they’re rusty, huh?” she asks with a grin that he allows himself to share.

When he turns back toward his office, he has a clear view of Main Street through the front glass doors. 

His neighbor’s pick-up is parked across the way in front of Clark’s Hardware. 

_Jared._

Jensen knows Jared can spend hours staring at two-by-fours and saw blades, dreaming up a deck that’ll never be built or a floor that won’t ever be replaced. The fact that he’s carrying merchandise out is remarkable, and Jensen’s instantly curious. He keeps it below the surface though, aware that he’s in uniform and under Maggie’s watchful eye. He can’t show any interest.

Jared’s sliding wood into the bed of his truck, arms stretching and back hunched over. Jensen watches carefully, ready to excuse it as spying, but it’s more than that given the way his fingers squeeze around the hot mug in his palm. He’ll never admit it’s something else – something that this town would never want to know about its Sheriff. 

When Jared stands upright, his eyes roam a few storefronts until they land on the door to the department. He tips his head and briefly smiles as he waves at Jensen.

Jensen gets a similar smile going and raises his mug in salute, a flash of surprise hitting him for catching this moment with Jared. It’s a Monday, but school’s out for a County holiday; Jared has the day off, free to do as he pleases while his students do the same. 

He keeps watching even when Jared steps into the cab of his truck, starts up the engine, and pulls out of his parallel spot. Jensen sips coffee without moving, knowing it won’t be the last time he sees Jared today. He’ll pretend the burn in his stomach is the warm, semi-fresh coffee he’s sipping.

“You know, Sheriff,” Maggie says, dragging Jensen from his moment. “If you don’t give Miss Danneel a real shot, I’ll have to pass her number onto Mr. Jared there. Girl’s been waiting years for you.”

Danneel’s been one of Jensen’s best friends since junior high; he highly doubts she’s waited all that time. And Jared’s the neighbor he thinks about far too often. Jensen would never approve of the set-up, though he knows there’s no worry for such things.

Either way, Maggie shouldn’t pester, so he glances over his shoulder then shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Go for it. I bet she’d be real interested.”

She seems too excited, missing his insincerity as she pops her head around to look out the window to where Jared’s truck is stopped by one of three lights in town. “You really think so? That poor girl’s been all by herself in that huge house since her brother left town and-”

“Hey, Maggie,” he interrupts.

“Yes, Sheriff?”

“Maybe you should read some more of the paper.”

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and returns to her seat. But Jensen walks to the front door and glances to the left, not surprised to no one’s at the stoplight anymore, but a bit disappointed Jared is out of sight. He wonders what Jared will do with the rest of his afternoon, how much time he spent at Clark’s, and what all that wood’s for. He often wonders about Jared.

They’ve been neighbors for a little over two years, since Jared finalized papers on the long-forgotten farmhouse on the next plot over, using the summer to settle in before the fall session started at the high school. He’s the Biology teacher, leader of the Science Club, and does his best to get kids interested in ecology and water resources. In a town this small, there‘s only a handful of students dedicated to such topics, but those who are, are feverish for it. Jared becomes animated and nearly glows every time the subject’s brought up.

Jensen knows so much about a man he never talks about.

After lunch, Deputy Abel slips through the front door after taking his morning pass through the County. He settles at the front desk and exchanges more than just pleasantries with Maggie. He taunts her with local gossip and things he saw and heard while on patrol. Apparently Samantha Smith, English teacher at the high school, had lunch with J.D. The two had spent most of the afternoon at the end of the counter at J.D.’s Morgan Corner Diner just two streets over. Adding to the scandal, Abel reports that Debbie Mayfield stood by, barely containing her disappointment. 

Just behind Jensen and Jared, J.D. is one of the most sought-after men in the community. His family tree dug its roots into the area a hundred years ago by starting up the first local business – a hardware store that Clark Henderson has since taken over – and getting their name tacked onto every county title, road sign, and school in the area. Morgan Falls has history, and J.D.’s a part of it.

Maggie’s nearly heartbroken for her own desires, with or without Frank; J.D. appeals to women of all ages. Jensen chuckles from his desk but doesn’t look up from the latest county reports littering the surface. 

He does bring his eyes to the conversation when he hears Abel drop Jared’s name. 

“Saw him clearing off his porch. Half his lawn furniture is all over the yard just waiting to be snagged.”

“The yellow ones, too?” Maggie asks a bit harshly. “I sold them to that boy the week after he closed on that house.”

“Not sure about yellow,” the Deputy replies slowly. “Maybe he’s just staining his deck.”

“I saw him at Clark’s this morning,” Maggie adds with more levity than needs be. 

Jake leans against the front of the long counter she’s stationed at “I saw a whole mess of wood in his backyard. Maybe he’s gonna build himself a mother-in-law house?”

“Is he seeing someone?” Maggie asks in a rush.

Jensen’s attention can’t be directed to anything else. His ears are sharp to their hushed conversation and he catalogs every movement they make. 

Abel flips his hand out with a minor shrug. “I have no clue. Haven’t heard a thing since he first got into town.”

Maggie visibly deflates in disappointment. “How does a good man like that go untouched?”

First there’s a snort from Abel, then one from Maggie, and they wind up nearly giggling together. 

Even as he rolls his eyes to their reaction, Jensen feels himself settle, his worries soothing themselves with common sense. 

“I still haven’t figured out what his type is, really,” Maggie says. “Do you know how many I’ve tried introducing him to and how many he declines?”

“I’m guessing a hundred percent,” Abel smiles. 

“Exactly,” she nods.

“Maybe he’s building a house for a new lady? All that wood out back,” Abel refreshes the conversation, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I can’t tell if he chopped it all himself or it rained down on him.”

“Big arms like that, man could do anything,” she says with a strange softness. 

Jensen’s staring with his hands resting on his desk, holding a packet of papers he hasn’t looked at in minutes. 

Abel fully shrugs this time, and as he moves, he sees Jensen watching and smirks. “Oh. Hey there, Sheriff.”

Maggie looks flushed and guilty for being caught and turns to her computer screen, tapping out a few commands that Jensen’s sure go nowhere.

Jensen nods with a plain, “Deputy.”

Abel’s boots scuff the floor as he walks to the opening of Jensen’s office. “You know what Jared’s up to out there?”

“No clue,” he answers, and it’s honest. He puts a few papers down, picks up a handful more, and scans paragraphs, doing his best to look – and get – busy. “That man could be building a birdhouse for all you know and you’re going around with tall tales about in-laws and girlfriends.”

The smile is obvious in the Deputy’s words. “Now, tall tales is kinda stretching it don’t you think?”

Jensen fixes him with a stern look, and it gets the point across as Abel raises his hands in apology, turns away, and returns to the lobby. Jensen’s thankful for the returning silence so he can work. He’s only a bit less thankful for distracting thoughts of Jared and whatever he’s up to today.

Come five-fifteen, Jensen walks Maggie to her car, a sedan from the 90’s that Jensen doubts is in production anymore, and watches Maggie head north down Main Street until Route 16, where she takes a right and disappears. He yanks at his collar, undeniably grateful he doesn’t mess with ties and can keep his neck free. Still, the uniform becomes too much at the end of the day and he’s itching to unbutton his shirt and drag the County-issue boots off his feet. But he keeps himself tidy for his own ride home, also down Main but left on 16 for a handful of miles until he hits Wilkes Road and takes the beaten path damn near until it ends, not more than 30 miles per hour on wrecked gravel for a solid twenty minutes. 

He pulls onto the free-pebble driveway that runs along the side of his house. As always, Jensen eyes Jared’s home for his walk up the steps. He waits until he’s inside to undo the top few buttons on his shirt, tugging it out of his belt as he flips through the three envelopes that’d been waiting for him in the mailbox. A beer is taken from the fridge, opened, and sipped ice cold for a few seconds before he bothers to unlace his boots. 

He takes the beer with him upstairs and sets it on the old oak dresser his father had used. Pale rings staining the finish mimic a coaster and did for years before Jensen was old enough to drink. An old, double-wide mirror still holds to the wall, and Jensen looks into it all while he disarms himself. His holster, gun, utility belt, and badge all go in a separate box in the top drawer, locked down with a key that hangs off a chain at his neck.

The only real upgrade in the room is the bed, and even that’s not fancy. Just something firmer and wider than his parents had ever considered. It serves as a good seat when he needs to take his boots off, pull his pants off, and replace his work clothes with a worn-down pair of jeans, an equally worn-out t-shirt from his days in the service, and a pair of running shoes. They were once white but are now stained grey and green, beaten up for all he traipses across the fields in them after hours. They feel too soft to toss out; after ten hours of hard leather trapping his feet, they’re a guilty pleasure. 

The bottle accompanies him as he returns to the first floor, stops at the mirror in the front hall, and scrubs fingers through his hair. He fusses it enough that he feels less like the firm arm of the law and more like the farm-grown 36-year-old he truly is. 

The screen door pops open with a turn of his wrist, and once he’s moving down the stairs, he smiles at the canary plastic chairs at the edge of Jared’s lawn. Four identical pieces at four different angles and their metal frames are mangled beyond repair. 

He’s drawn to the sound of metal on wood, hammering carrying on from just beyond Jared’s house. Jensen follows the noise along Jared’s wrap-around porch until he sees Jared in the grass, folded over a maze of wood that doesn’t look like much. An untreated Adirondack chair sits at the top of the weathered side steps. The contradiction says so much about fresh, open Jared living in such an old home.

As Jensen walks further into the side yard, Jared’s head tilts up and he smiles before positioning a nail and setting the hammer to it. “Howdy, Sheriff.”

“Jared,” Jensen returns, voice stern as if he never left the station. He waits until Jared’s done dropping the nail into wood to speak again. “You fixing to change careers? Biology to Carpentry?”

“Shop _was_ one of my favorites,” he replies.

Nails keep being set to wood, and Jensen steps around tools and scraps to reach the stairs. “I always took you as a Home-Ec kind of boy.” He walks up to the top of the porch and lowers himself into the fresh Adirondack. “Is this thing safe?” he asks. 

Jared tsks at him and Jensen stops. Images of wood collapsing and Jensen cracking his back on the porch flash through his mind, so he freezes with his hands on the chair’s arms. Jared licks his lips and puts focus back to where he’s setting the final slat of chair seat. “You so sure you wanna do that, Sheriff?”

Jensen looks down at the piece and silently admires Jared’s handiwork. The chair looks factory fresh, not as though it was built in a day by a high school biology teacher. “Do I have reason to not trust you?” he asks as he gives the furniture a small shake to test its sturdiness.

A smirk plays on Jared’s face and he’s back to the rhythm of knocking nails into lumber, and Jensen figures he’s good to sit. Once Jensen’s settled in the new chair, slowly slipping his beer, Jared shifts to line the arms up with the bottom half of the frame. 

He takes the time to watch and admire Jared’s concentration even as he moves swiftly, the chair taking shape as though Jared were a woodworker. He wonders how far into carpentry Jared has dabbled. 

“I didn’t realize you were serious about building new chairs,” Jensen says as he watches Jared pinpoint the next nail’s position.

Jared doesn’t look up but his smile is obvious as his cheeks go pink. “I liked Home-Ec for the cookies.”

“I bet you did,” Jensen replies then smirks as he sips from his beer.

Jared stands, sidesteps his work, and looks down on it as he runs the back of his hand over his forehead to clear a light layer of sweat. He looks tired, and Jensen nearly feels it in his bones out of sympathy. But then Jared shakes his head, clearing all emotion from his face. “Shop was more fun once I found out I’m pretty good with my hands.” When he looks to Jensen, he’s smiling fondly, one hand on his hip and the other fiddling with the hammer. 

Jensen appreciates the silhouette of Jared in a fitted tee and khaki shorts, tan skin looking especially bronzed with a sheen of perspiration and the setting sun. Jensen picks at the label of his beer as he keeps staring at Jared while Jared’s lips are pressed tight, like he’s trying so hard to not smile. The long look makes Jensen’s fingers twitch against the bottle but he keeps snagging at the damp paper. When he’s got enough wrapper, he rolls it and tosses at Jared, missing by a mile but making his point. 

“What?” Jared asks with a laugh and bright smile.

“You’re a damned tease.”

He grins and finally sets his hammer down in the grass as he moves forward. “I’m damned hungry is what I am.” He hops up the steps and pats at Jensen’s shoulder as he passes. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

“All of the above,” Jensen calls when Jared’s already inside, screen door slapping shut. 

It’s not long before Jared returns with two plates, a sandwich and handful of chips apiece, and two chilled bottles of beer tucked under his arm. He sets himself at the top step, just beside Jensen in the new chair. They eat with light banter, both keeping eyes to their food when not taking in the vast fields running west with nothing between Jared’s house and dusk. 

“Think you got enough wood?” Jensen asks idly as he logs the pile a good thirty feet further in the yard.

Jared takes the final drink from his bottle and rubs at the corner of his mouth. He kicks his feet to the next stair and leans back with his elbows on the weathered deck. “I was thinking of making a foursome.”

Jensen snorts and shakes his head as he lightly toes at Jared’s side, making him flinch and chuckle. Even while feeling sharp on Jared’s humor, Jensen asks, “When’re you finishing them?” 

“You got a good flashlight?” he returns with a small smile. 

“Really?”

“If you don’t mind, I sure don’t.”

Suddenly, they’re both taken with the sight of a dusty pick-up weaving through barren roads in the southwest. J.D.’s truck becomes more obvious the closer it gets, and the man honks and raises a hand through the open driver’s side window when he passes. 

Jensen and Jared each wave, and Jared asks, “Did you know him and Sam Smith have been hanging out together?”

Jensen chuckles, and shakes his head as his mind recalls his day at work. “You been talking to my Deputy?”

“Maybe a little. That kid’s got some good intel.”

He sits into the angle of the chair and snorts. “That kid says you chopped all this wood yourself.”

Jared flexes his arms out with muscles bulging at the edges of his shirt sleeves. “Maybe I did. You never do give me much credit around here.”

Jensen’s proud that he only stalls for a couple seconds as he admires the hard lines of Jared’s arms and, better yet, the shape of Jared’s broad shoulders when he settles back on his palms again. Lightly clearing his throat, Jensen stands, swatting Jared’s hair as he takes the stairs. “I’ll get my light and a couple more beers.”

“If I keep drinking, I’ll likely hammer my hand right to the slats,” Jared calls out. “Then where will we be?”

“The ER,” Jensen laughs. “I was planning on it anyway.”

Jared works slower by twilight, but Jensen watches with the same keen attention as he had when he first sat down. Jared’s precise with each hit of the hammer, his aim exact to each nail. And when he’s done, near Jensen’s weekday bedtime, there are two sturdy Adirondacks on the porch, one for each of them to lounge in, and the pile off to the side remains untouched, waiting for another day. 

Jensen stretches his legs out and crosses them at the ankles as he presses his now-warm bottle into his thigh. “These are much better than the steel cans you used to have.”

“I hated those things so hard, you have no clue.”

“The demolition of the legs kind of clued me in.” Jensen rolls his head to look at Jared. It’s not too difficult with so little light, his battery powered lantern shut and sitting at his side; he knows every smooth turn of Jared’s face. He’s been looking at him long enough. “Maggie won’t be too happy that you’re tossing them out. She did give you quite the deal at that garage sale.”

Jared chuckles into the lip of his bottle before finishing the beer. “I’ll chalk it up to vandalism.”

“Damned kids,” Jensen mutters with a smile. After sipping the last of his beer, Jensen rises, collecting the few empties as he goes. “I’m gonna head in. I predict a long morning with Maggie complaining over you tossing her lawn furniture to the street.”

Jared stands, too, and puts a hand to Jensen’s shoulder as he guides them around the front of the house. They both freeze and stare at the empty spot on Jared’s lawn where four damaged yellow chairs were just hours ago.

“Well that fixes that,” Jensen says plainly. They chuckle together and then a sleepy smile slips across Jensen’s face. He and Jared share a warm look before they’re both alarmed by a minivan roaring by with persistent honking, a loud radio, and the chatter of high school kids lacking enough to do with their time. 

“Better jump in your cruiser and get to work, _Sheriff_.”

All too often Jared pushes that word, which in turn pushes Jensen’s buttons. Jensen doesn’t want to be Sheriff with Jared, doesn’t want his neighbor to only think that of him. Even as Jared seems to avoid following those orders, the comments have become a running gag.

He forces the empties into Jared’s hands and raises both eyebrows. “To sleep.”

“Yeah, alright,” Jared smirks back without moving an inch.

When Jensen reaches his own porch, he stalls and nods at Jared with a fond smile. “Nice work on the chairs.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

Jensen rolls his eyes but can’t keep the laugh from breaking. He shakes his head, pulls his screen door open, and calls, “Good night, Jared.”

It’s quiet, and he’s just barely a step across the threshold when he hears Jared’s soft, “Night, Jensen.” He smiles back at Jared, liking the sound of his name for the first and last time that day. It’s the best way he’s been addressed in twenty-four hours.


	3. Part Two

In the morning, dressed and armed for work, Jensen steps up and into his truck, but pauses with his head just above the top of the cab because Jared’s slipping out his front door. Jensen takes the moment to log Jared in work wear: pressed slacks and a starched button-up, pale blue and untucked with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He doesn’t often see Jared on the way out to work and it’s even rarer that he catches him on the way home, given the longer hours of Jensen’s day. Jensen can admit he likes taking a second here when he’d normally head right into town. 

As soon as Jared turns around, he pauses and slowly smiles. “Sheriff,” he calls out with a nod. 

“Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen returns. He nearly grins when Jared rolls his eyes. “Be safe out there. Kids are crazy these days.”

“I think you’ve got more to worry about than I do,” Jared points out as he moves down the steps and to his dusted-up, second-hand pick-up. 

“Fair enough.”

Jared slings his bag across the front seat to rest on the passenger’s side and nods at Jensen again. “Say hi to Maggie for me.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her all about your new lawn furniture,” Jensen says quickly. He smiles and tucks himself inside the cab of the truck before the conversation can go any further. 

Even with the roar of the police vehicle, Jensen can hear Jared complain, “Oh, come on, no.”

Jensen smirks at Jared and waves as he pulls the truck out onto the pebbled road.

At the end of his shift, Jensen walks Maggie to her car, trying to deflect questions about Jared’s lawn furniture.

_Yes, I heard he has new chairs._

_No, I don’t know where they came from._

_Who knows? Maybe he really_ can _wield a hammer and build chairs._

Jensen’s proud that he keeps his smile to a minimum as he talks about Jared. That he can hold all emotions at bay and avert more of Maggie’s gossip.

“Frank and I are going for dinner, if you’d like to join us,” she offers once she’s got her window rolled down and the car rumbling to life. 

He taps the top of the window frame and smiles in earnest. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just stop off for a few errands and then home for the night.”

Maggie frowns and her voice takes on a tone that sounds a little like his mother and sister combined. A batch of worry and love with a boot of good sense to kick him in the ass. “Sheriff, you really ought to find yourself some dining partners. A man can go crazy on the edge of town with no one to keep him company.”

“I’m fine,” he insists with a small smile and nod. “Now, get on to Frank. He’s probably starving waiting on you.”

With a small wave, she’s off. Jensen watches the car hang a left onto 16 instead of heading right. It’s curious, but there’s no point in thinking hard on it. 

After barely a second’s thought, Jensen walks over to Henderson’s and buys a few paint brushes and tins of sealant, with Jared’s chairs on his mind. He’s back in the truck when he starts to wonder about it: if Jared already has some, if Clark will get that it’s not for him but his neighbor, if he should even care. The answers rattle around in his head as he leaves town, but he calms all thoughts, telling himself to keep moving forward. 

On his way home, he detours to Bub’s, the county grocer a dozen or so miles outside of downtown. It’s little more than a long-abandoned gas station converted into a store that stocks odds and ends for the average cupboard along with a modest meat and cheese cooler. It also boasts Kevin ‘Bub’ Mattson’s family recipe for fried chicken. The place smells of roasted potatoes for the evening rush, which is really just a handful of folks camped out at red-painted wooden picnic benches in the corner, just next to a makeshift bakery counter.

Bub is moving between the kitchen and the dining space. The man looks far beyond his middle-aged years, thinning dark hair making his scalp shine under the store’s lights. His body is tall but broad with bulky limbs filling out his carpenter jeans and navy blue flannel. He hands two bright blue plates Sharon, a jovial full-figured blonde in jeans and a peasant top. She’s a transplant from up north who’d wandered through town on a whim and never left, marrying Bub a year or so after she started working for him.

She smiles at Jensen as she passes and sets the servings at a table for two. The fried chicken glistens as if it’s still popping in the deep fryer and meaty cream gravy spills over an open-faced biscuit. 

Jensen nearly drools. The scent had been a fightable creature, but the accompanying sight of home cookin’ gets him deep in the gut. 

“Donut, Sheriff?” Bub asks with a smirk. He’s wiping his thick, oily fingers on his dark apron that’s all dusted up with corn starch and flour. 

“Ha, ha,” Jensen says flatly, even as his eyes rake over the selection. Bub really does serve up the best donuts Jensen’s ever tasted, warm cake first thing in the morning, but they’re likely well past their freshness at this hour. Though when the 1950’s style jukebox in the corner flips over to Elvis, the peanut butter and banana éclair serves as a tribute to The King. They’re so tempting.

“The fried special then?” Bub nods. 

Jensen places a hand over his chest, imagining the sludge in his arteries if he dared live off the stuff. Flavors be damned. “I’m not sure I could handle it,” he answers warily.

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Sharon says as she sidles up to her husband. 

They’re smiling side by side and Jensen chuckles, nodding a bit to not only her words but the comfortable picture they make. 

She lightly hip-checks Bub and throws him a sideways glance. “Kev here’s got a new batch of garlic potatoes roasting. Fresh rosemary from our garden and a little shake of ground mustard.”

“I highly recommend, if you trust my opinion,” comes from beside Jensen and when he looks over, Maggie’s approaching the counter and tossing him a sly look. “But you never do listen to me much when it comes to matters of the stomach. Or the heart.”

He’s still in his uniform and she’s under his charge at the station; nevertheless, he feels his nerves warm with a small twitch of embarrassment for her comments and constant curiosity. There’s a reason he usually keeps to himself, sticking to his house and hiding most matters of his life that don’t include the law. People poke and prod, all well-meaning, sure. But it’s more than he ever truly appreciated. 

“Are you joining us after all?” she cuts into his thoughts.

“I’m good, Maggie,” Jensen replies with a bit of his authoritative tone slipping in. “Thank you very much.”

She hums, shakes her head, and then taps at the Formica counter, much like she does at the station. “Frank and I would like seconds of the potatoes when they’re up,” she tells Sharon.

At the mention of her husband, Jensen turns to spot Frank at the far picnic bench, head bent as he nibbles at the edge of a chicken leg. When the man looks up, Jensen raises his hand in a short wave, and Jensen’s moving back to Sharon and Bub as the bell over the door jangles. All four turn to the new patron. 

Jensen won’t deny that his heart jumps for a few seconds and his cheeks flame at the sight of Jared out in the daylight. Despite the time they spend together back at their homes, they’re rarely seen in the same place out in town, and this scene feels awkward. Neither has ever let others in on how much they see of each other or how easy it is to be around one another. Jensen’s certainly never shared all that he thinks of Jared, deeper than just regards for his neighbor. 

He feels his back go rigid and he presses his toes out and down to temper himself. It doesn’t help that Jared’s still dressed for work, smooth navy dress pants with the same soft blue shirt Jensen had seen this morning. Now, after a day of instructing kids and dealing with his after-school club, Jared’s hair is loose and parted off center. Likely from running his hands through it for most of the afternoon.

“Jared, I haven’t seen you in a few days!” Maggie says. She doesn’t seem to bother masking her delight. “How’s Morgan Falls’ favorite teacher.”

Jared chuckles as he greets them all with a nod and a wave. “Bet you say that to all the folks.”

“Only my favorites.”

Jensen wants to laugh at her obvious excitement to Jared’s presence, as she always tends to have when Jared’s all good manners and bright smiles. But he catches how Jared glances at his Sheriff’s uniform and holster then resolutely turns to Bub and Sharon. Jensen covers the butt of his gun with his hand and takes a step back, letting Jared get to his business in the store. 

Jared’s mouth twitches with a small smile at Jensen and he takes a quick breath before talking to Bub. “Do you have anything fresh to cut?”

“I’ve got half a chicken left I can piece up for you or some pork that just came in this afternoon?” Bub offers.

“I’ll take two chops,” Jared nods. “And how about some potatoes I can finish up at home?”

As Bub and Sharon move into the kitchen for Jared’s order, Maggie nudges Jensen’s elbow. “Jared’s cooking up for company. Maybe you should take a page out of his book?”

“I’m sure he’s just full of tips,” Jensen returns lightly. 

“Handsome men who cook are hard to come by,” Maggie says with a wink at Jared.

Jared winks back and Jensen controls his response to a flat, “I bet they are.”

She doesn’t respond to his tone, turning fully towards Jared and biting into her lip with anticipation. “You cooking for a nice, young lady, Jared?”

“You could say that,” he replies, and Jensen shuts his eyes so he won’t roll them. 

It’s a surprise she doesn’t clap her hands right there, even as she bounces on the balls of her feet. “And who might that be?”

“If I tell you now, it won’t be as fun for me to woo her.”

A bell dings back in the kitchen, and Sharon and Bub can be heard working with the fresh food. Jensen’s all too thankful and rather proud that he doesn’t groan with happiness at the moment being broken. 

Maggie calls back to Frank about the food coming up while Jensen shifts towards Jared and gives him a heavy look. “Real cute there, Mr. Padalecki.”

“I know I am,” he replies, an easy smirk doing things to Jensen’s stomach he doesn’t want to acknowledge right now. “But I can’t help myself. These chops are legendary.”

Jensen licks his lips at the image of juicy grilled food fresh off the grill. 

There’s a fuss to Sharon handing a platter of speared potatoes to Maggie, who returns to her table, and then a brown paper sack to Jared. Sharon kindly smiles at him with a tip of her head. “The potatoes are wrapped up in foil with extra butter and rosemary. Just plop it on the grill as is for five minutes or so. That’ll heat ‘em right back up.”

Jared fishes out his wallet to pay and grins back. “I’m sure they’ll be a hit tonight.” He ignores the coins Sharon slides across the counter and lifts his package in goodbye, stepping away. 

Jensen tilts his head enough to follow Jared out the door, eyes cutting to catch just the long lines of Jared’s legs as he disappears outside. 

“And you, Sheriff?” Sharon asks. 

He turns back to her, and his memory is stalled on why he even came to the grocer for how his mind is jumbled between the slight hassle of Maggie’s nosy nature and Jared’s presence. A shake of his head clears it long enough to remember. “Can I get a couple biscuits and some eggs? Maybe shredded cheddar, too, if you’ve got some left.”

“Ah, breakfast, right?”

“Yeah. I’m getting a little tired of eating oatmeal over the sink,” he says, light smile getting the joke across, no matter how true it really is. Quick, solitary meals in the morning don’t do much for him except make him feel secluded as he starts the day. It doesn’t bother him often, but lately it’s felt a bit too stifling. Maggie saying so doesn’t help much either.

In no time at all, Sharon brings him a paper bag of his own, and winks at him as she taps the top of the package. “I snuck in a cut of ham. Maybe you can fashion yourself an omelet. And you’ve got a fist-full of dough so you can bake ‘em fresh in the morn, too.”

As he thanks her and tries to pay, she waves him off. He forces a frown and insists once again. He’s used to pleasantries and hand-outs as the Sheriff, but he continues to be overwhelmed by them all the same. 

“You never pay here, Sheriff. You do enough for this town, and we still owe you a few rounds on our tab.”

Upon first returning to Morgan Falls nearly a decade ago without much to bide his free time, he’d met with Sharon and Bub on weekends to fix up the store. Worn tee shirts and ragged cargo shorts became his weekend uniform as they tore out most of the back room to make space for better kitchen equipment. He hadn’t done it for anything more than finding pride in helping the couple out and to pass the days. 

Still, he nearly blushes with her sweet notion. He gives her a short nod and smile and heads on home. 

He can smell Jared’s grill fired up before he even gets out of his truck. The charcoal scent tempts him and he makes quick work to put his haul from the store into the fridge and change out his uniform for a tee and jeans that are the best comfort he can have at the end of the day. 

Around the back of the house, Jared mans the grill in a thin grey shirt and haggard-looking jeans whose holes are all from wear and tear, no intended style. Jensen stutters a step seeing Jared completely barefoot on the handful of square stones that serve as the patio. He sighs to himself, stowing a smile away before Jared can catch him admiring the look. 

The gas grill’s smoking up and Jared flips the pork chops, juice egging on the flames as he ducks away from heat. 

“Good thing the Fire Chief ain’t around,” Jensen says as he approaches, loose smile on his face that Jared returns.

“I think he’d appreciate my ability to control it.”

“Barely,” he says with a nod to point out one burner that flares particularly high. 

The chop right over that side of the flame gets turned over and it’s completely charred. “I’m declaring that one yours.” He gives Jensen a hard look. “Just for that smart mouth you’ve got.”

“Ahh,” he starts with a serious tone. “Cajun seasoning.” Jared tsks with a smirk and Jensen chuckles. “What about the potatoes?”

“In the oven already.”

“Thought Sharon said right on the fire?”

Jared flips the grill tongs in his hand and cocks his head. “Gotta play by my own rules sometimes, Sheriff.” He blows at the end of the tongs and mocks putting them into a holster. 

Jensen manages to not roll his eyes for once, rather enjoying Jared’s playful use of his title. “You’re in an awfully good mood,” Jensen muses.

Nodding brings Jared’s hair from behind his ears, framing his tan face in a way that makes Jensen’s fingers twitch with the want to touch. The sun is far too bright out here to try. 

“Kids were great today,” Jared says happily. “The Eco Club’s all excited about heading up to Warren to check out the marsh.” He glances over to Jensen with a fond look. “It was all their idea.”

Jensen warms to the notion, knowing full well how it touches Jared that his students are proactive for his own cause. He crosses his arms and shakes his head with a broad smile. “Man, you’ve got those kids charmed just like the rest of town.”

“Shut up,” Jared laughs, shoving at Jensen’s shoulder. 

He reaches out to block Jared’s arm in defense, but then with care, he slides his hand over Jared’s shoulder. “No really, that’s great.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Jared nods quickly. “Tomorrow I’ll talk to the big dogs about having it go for a full Saturday trip. Make it official and all.”

“That’s awesome. You think it’ll fly?”

Jared seems hesitant to smile and averts his eyes before shrugging. “I’ve got my fingers crossed, and all that.” 

“Toes, too?” Jensen asks with a crooked smile.

“Everything,” Jared laughs. He checks his watch, a silver thing that would look hulking on a wrist that didn’t belong to someone as built as Jared. “Think you can grab the potatoes before they burn?”

“What? You don’t want them to match the pork?” Jensen jokes as he moves around Jared to head inside. 

They eat on the side porch with the home-made Adirondack chairs easing them into effortless conversation and the sun setting before them. 

“Are you staining them?” Jensen asks in between bites.

Jared shrugs. “I kinda like them as is. But I don’t know. I’ll hit up Clark’s this weekend or something and figure it out.”

“You should at least seal ‘em, you know?” He shoots Jared a careful smile and when Jared’s eyes narrow to him, Jensen feels a spotlight on him. “What?”

“Are you telling me what to do?” he asks with a smile.

“Absolutely not.”

“Not this time, at least?” 

Jensen rolls his eyes and glances away for a moment. “Maybe I was nice and grabbed some for you when I was done today.”

“You didn’t,” Jared draws out with a little bit of awe and overplayed admiration.

He grabs a bit of pork off his plate and chucks it at Jared, laughing when Jared reaches under the plate to where it fell into the folds of his shirt and makes a show of chewing it. Jensen pops the final sliver of potato in his mouth and uses the last clean bit of his paper towel to wipe his fingers. He gives Jared a long look. “Bub would be proud.”

“Why, is that a compliment, Sheriff?”

With a nod, he says, “Near abouts.”

“And what do you think Maggie would say?” Jared taunts with a smart turn of his mouth.

Jensen tips his head back to look out to the orange sky blurring to red. “I think you should worry more about what your dinner guest would say.”

Even without turning towards Jared, Jensen can see him slide lower in his chair, face resting at the back of it as he watches Jensen for a bit. He finally asks, “And what would my dinner guest say?”

He takes a second or two just to drag the soft moment on so he can fully memorize it in this calm evening. “That the cook ain’t too bad of company.”

Jared’s mouth opens around a large, amused grin. “You really _are_ bad at this complimenting business.”

Jensen shifts to sit just as Jared, head against the chair and eyes locked into Jared’s. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be wooing your guest.”

Turning back to the yard, Jared chuckles and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll try steaks next time.”

“Not such a bad idea,” Jensen replies and moves back to the same position. 

The sun continues to drop behind the horizon, just burnt embers flaring out as night takes over. Talk carries on, and they joke more. Words come even easier when the light’s gone out before them and they’re left with only the stars to show where land ends and sky begins. After some time, they settle inside to pass more of the evening in Jared’s living room, sinking into the couch and mostly ignoring the TV for better conversation. 

When Jensen steps onto the front porch, it’s their last moment for the night. He tries to ignore how awkward it feels to walk outside after spending all this time with Jared, as if someone will pass by and guess what sorts of things Jensen thinks of his neighbor.

Doesn’t help that Jensen’s hair is matted and his shirt wrinkled from the couch, looking far from Sheriff-like. On weekends, sure, the town sees him as Jensen, but it’s not the same. Most days he prefers the stuffy uniform just so the residents keep up the charade and – mostly – leave him be. 

If someone could read his mind right now though, they’d do anything but. It’s full of dangerous thoughts of his neighbor, all familiar images: wanting to kiss Jared, to touch, and just _be_ with him. They’re all things he’s uncomfortable acknowledging when he’s out in the open for anyone to pass by and consider. He flashes back to Bub’s and how Maggie had slipped in more than enough questions and leading comments for Jared’s lovelife. 

With that, he’s intent on leaving and offers Jared a quiet goodbye. Jared does the same, smiling at Jensen as he trudges down the stairs. Then Jensen stops just a few feet from the house and spins back towards Jared. The scene from Bub’s is still fresh in his mind, this time for a completely different reason. 

“Sharon gave me some stuff for breakfast. If you want to come by before you head out?” 

Jared leans against the doorframe, bathed in light from the living room, and Jensen can’t ignore how gorgeous that picture is. But then Jared gently smiles and it gets better. “Who’s trying to woo who now?”

Jensen takes a few steps backwards. “That a no?”

He crosses his arms, appearing cozy in the doorway. “You think I’m about to turn down a fresh cooked meal from the Sheriff?”

Jensen grins in the cover of the dark. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Definitely.”

With a belly full of eggs and his mind content with breakfast conversation, Jensen heads off to work with a soft smile creasing his face. 

It’s a normal drive towards town, but off to the north he sees his deputy’s department Blazer parked a hundred yards off the main thruway. The patch where Abel’s standing is at the edge of the Dunhams’ land. When Jensen nears, he can see Matt Dunham there with his hands on his hips and his head down, standing just behind Abel, who’s crouched down in the foot-high brush of overgrowth. 

Jensen parks a dozen or so yards away to avoid ruining too much of the field and takes long, slow strides to meet them. They’re both watching Jensen as he steps close and asks, “What’s the problem?”

Abel lifts his eyebrows and looks back down to the ground. Jensen sees a white-and-black spotted cow on its side and he nearly laughs at the image of it tipped. But then he notices patches of red soaking the ground, and he bites at the corner of his mouth as he looks to Dunham. 

“What happened?”

“Don’t know,” Dunham replies quietly. “I was missing one of the herd and when I started walking, I caught red all over the weeds. I followed it out here.”

Abel stands and his face is trained, as is his voice, when he says, “It was called in about 40 minutes ago. You weren’t in yet so I hauled ass out here.”

Jensen waves it off, seeing no wrong in Abel taking the call; he’s more concerned with the animal. He crouches next to it and places a gentle hand to its neck, presses just a bit, and strokes over the coat. There’s no sign of life, not that he expected it. But he had hoped, sure. 

“How long had she been missing?” he asks with a quick look to the farmer.

Dunham tugs his ballcap off and swipes over his salt and pepper hair, all sweaty and matted down from the hat. “Didn’t notice ‘til this morning.”

Jensen stays low to the ground and shifts around the cow without touching her again. When he reaches her underbelly, he winces at the jagged wound angling toward the ground. It doesn’t seem deep from where he’s looking, but the spread of red dirt below her tells him it’s ugly where he can’t see. 

He lifts his eyes to Abel, who just stares back. He stands, swipes his hands over the back of his uniform pants, and nods to Dunham. “Should probably call Cathy. I bet she can help out.”

Dunham gives a long look, and Jensen can read his doubt in the county veterinarian. But she’s the only medical professional he knows of in a 200-mile radius equipped to deal with an animal this large, with this kind of trouble. Anyone else could take a day to dispatch to town. 

Jensen walks to his truck with Abel just behind him. 

“What’re you thinking?” Abel asks. 

“What’re _you_?” Jensen returns, level and curious, too. 

“Dog?”

“Big dog,” Jensen replies cynically. When Abel doesn’t answer, Jensen offers, “Think we got a wolf?”

“Really?” Abel asks with his own dose of skepticism.

Jensen’s eyes roam the fields, the long spread of grass and wilting crops with the latter part of autumn taking over. “We had one back in ‘95. It took out a few dogs.”

“Dog to cow is a mighty big jump.”

He rests an elbow at the window frame of his truck and thinks it over, replaying the sight of the cow’s wounds. “That girl got ripped up in just the right spot. A wolf just has to catch a few inches and tear before a cow’ll fall.”

Abel doesn’t respond, staring at Jensen with obvious doubt.

“Tell Matty to keep the kids in after dusk,” he instructs as he gets into the truck. He smiles at Abel when the start of the engine keeps the deputy from saying anything in return. “Maybe J.D.’ll hunt it down.”

“So you’re starting open season on dogs now?”

“Just the mean ones.” Jensen pats the doorframe and pulls off.

He spends the rest of the morning in his office and only steps out when Abel returns with paperwork over the incident at Matt Dunham’s. They exchange a few words about what all happened after Jensen left. Abel tells him how the old farmer’s doing and what Cathy said when she showed. Nothing was of issue; it all feels very typical for the fall of an animal like this. 

Except Jensen can’t ignore the look of those wounds on the cow’s underbelly, and he stares at photos from the scene while leaning on the front counter.

“Sheriff?” Maggie asks gently, hand even gentler on his forearm. 

He shakes his head to focus on her with a small smile in place. “I’m good. I think I’ll take a drive around town and see if anyone else has seen any dogs on the loose.”

“It’s not a dog,” Abel mumbles from his desk off to the right. When Jensen looks at him, the young deputy crushes his lips together and is otherwise quiet.

Jensen goes back to his office to gather his Sheriff ballcap, keys, and travel mug. “Finish your paperwork. We’ll catch up when I get back,” Jensen tells Abel as he steps through the front area.

The day draws long with his hours on the road. He tracks paths up and down dirt roads to visit other farmers in the area, ask questions about wild animals, and check on the state of their livestock. Everything appears good, though Mrs. Carlson gives him a look when he turns down dinner that evening.

“You haven’t been around much lately,” she says with a glare. It’s a look he’s seen countless times throughout his life, time spent following her sons around town and starting up trouble with a smile firmly in place.

Jensen pulls his hat off and holds it between his hands. Before he can come up with an excuse, she’s pushing the screen door wide open and holding it with her hip.

“Just ‘cause Steve is off on better adventures doesn’t mean you have to be all bitter and hide from these parts.”

“No, ma’am,” Jensen replies with a small smile. It takes a few moments, but she starts to smile with him. “Just been busy with other things.”

“Like Jared Padalecki?”

Now it’s her motherly look he can’t shake. And he can’t manage the words to respond, feeling frozen in place at the mention.

“I’m talking of your neighbor.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m aware who lives next door,” he returns tightly, though it’s tempered with a smile.

She tsks at him. “Though, I guess I can’t complain. I’m glad you’ve got yourself a friend when everyone else has skipped town. I’m surprised you’re still here. You and Danneel and who else? Jason and then n one else.”

The way her voice eases near the end of her run, Jensen’s reminded of summers spent on their farm. Fifteen years old and racing through waist-high corn before settling in for a large spread across their dining room table, featuring the sweetest cobs Steve’s dad gathered each year. It warms him, and he puts his hat back on with a boyish smile. “Some of us have to stick around to take care of you.”

She yanks on the kitchen towel tucked into her apron and swats him with it. “Get outta my hair, you. Taking care, my ass,” she mumbles as she takes a step back inside.

He chuckles, feeling youth briefly grab hold and remind him of all the laughter they’ve shared in her home. “So, you haven’t seen anything?”

“Besides Turner’s dog being all revved up?”

Jensen has to think on it and glances to the farmhouse on the next plot of land. “Stan Turner?”

She shakes her head and sounds annoyed when she says, “That mutt’s been running circles in its pen for days. Thank God, he lets him out some nights, else I’d never sleep.”

He nods like he gets it, but he’s not sure what that has to do with anything. “Alright,” he says with another nod. “Anything else comes up, you let me know.”

“Yeah, you’re on my speed dial,” she jokes.

The Carlsons’ is his last stop, he figures. It’s late in the day and he hasn’t found much of anything to keep him going. He calls Abel from his truck as he drives straight home. 

“So, no werewolves?” Abel asks with a sharp tone.

“No. And you’re lucky or else I’d put you down for that attitude right now,” he threatens, hardly meaning a bit of it.

“Yeah, shoot me right in the forehead like Teen Wolf.”

“I don’t think they killed him. He won the game for them and all,” Jensen says idly as he turns onto yet another beaten path. It’s the back way around but it calls for less turns. Dirt kicks up all around him as he moves faster than usual; he just wants to get home and have himself a beer to forget the image of Dunham’s cow turned over.

“So you finally believe me? Gonna side with me this time?” Abel asks with a laugh.

“I’ll consider it. Maybe a good sleep will bring me to my senses and then I’ll – _holy shit_!” he screeches as an animal runs across his path, left to right in a haze of brown and grey. He stomps on the brake and yanks the wheel to the right, dragging along the gravel and nearly skidding off into a ditch, stopping just short of it when he throws the truck into park and yanks the parking brake. 

“Sheriff? _Sheriff_!” comes in tinny worry from the cell phone he’d dropped to the floor with his manic reaction. 

His heart is racing, breaths getting even faster as his eyes rake the land. A second later, he shoves the driver’s door open and stands up in the footwell to stare off to his left. He can see _something_. It’s jutting in between dying crops, brush and weeds swaying as the animal zig-zags. His mind flashes back to a long year in the desert when all he did was track enemies in the dust and raise a firearm with unshakeable courage. His fingers curl around the gun at his hip and he holds as still as possible, prepared to aim if he can actually _see_ something concrete to go after.

“ _Jensen_ ,” is the rough call from his phone, dragging him back to reality. 

He slides back into the driver’s seat, reaching down for the cell. He sits back, pulling in a long breath of air just before he brings the phone back up to his ear. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“What the hell happened?” Abel harps at him.

“I’m okay,” he says, steadying his breathing. “Damned thing ran right in front of my truck.”

“What did?”

Jensen looks left, even when he knows there’s nothing to watch. That animal’s long gone. “Werewolf,” he smirks, doing his best to settle his own nerves. Mostly just trying to hide them.

“You’re kidding me!” Abel shouts over the line.

He chuckles, liking how natural it sounds no matter how hard his heart thumps against his ribs. “Yeah, maybe.” He looks out his window again and his voice gets low. “I don’t know what it was, but something’s out here. Off of Stein and Baker roads and heading southwest.”

“You need a pick-up?”

“Nah, I’m okay.” If he keeps saying it, he’s sure he’ll start to believe it. “Truck’s fine. Just a little shaken up.” He glances out the back window to see the gravel piled around his tired tracks. “There’s a whole mess of dirt and dust, but it’s okay.”

“Just breathe easy,” Abel suggests, surprising Jensen with the comfort. 

Jensen huffs and tries to accept Abel’s good intentions. “I meant the truck, not me.” After a beat, he releases the parking brake and shifts gears to drive. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Try not to run over any animals on your way in,” Abel teases.

“Funny guy,” he grumbles as he shuts off the phone and drops it in his lap.

Just a few minutes later, he’s pulling into his driveway, and he focuses more on parking and less on Jared standing on his own front porch looking antsy. The whole mess of nearly driving off the road didn’t happen just down the block, but with the barren land, it likely wasn’t hard for Jared to see the pick-up skidding off the road a mile down the way.

By the time Jensen’s got himself in order and he steps from the truck, Jared’s moved to the near corner of his porch. Jared stretches an arm up to rest at the overhang, trying to look casual. It doesn’t do much; Jensen can see the worry on his face even from a plot of land away. 

“What happened out there?” Jared calls out. 

Jensen forces a smirk as he crosses his yard, tugging on the brim of his hat to block the glare of the sun setting just beyond Jared’s house. “Coyote or a werewolf. Maybe Big Foot. It all depends on who you ask.”

“Big Foot?” Jared asks slowly.

He turns in place to look down the road, about to where he knows he’d had the incident. When he faces Jared, he puts on a truer look of confusion and a trace of worry. “I don’t know. Something crossed right in front of me.”

Jared shifts in place and his hand slips as he focuses far out beyond Jensen, as if he can see whatever it is that created the problem. “You hit it?”

“No, I didn’t. And I’m fine, thanks for asking.” They share a look that drags on for a bit of tension until Jared shakes his head with a small smile. Jensen nods at him. “Did you eat yet?”

Jared brings his arm down and tugs at the waistband of his worn-out jeans. “I’ve been building chair number three. You wanna bring your light back?”

Food’s more of Jensen’s worry, though he can’t think of many times he argues with Jared over anything at all. And he can’t recall any reason he’d consider telling Jared no. “Not really, but okay.”

“You can raid my fridge.”

“Not that tempting,” Jensen jokes as he walks to his front porch, glad for the change in mood. 

It’s a rather quick ten minutes for Jensen to strip himself of the day’s uniform and the grime of being on the road for the last six hours. Yet by the time he makes it to Jared’s side yard, the sun has dropped down low, a golden haze filling the space around Jared and another pile of wood. Jensen admires the faint light surrounding them and stands just a few feet away, watching Jared move as well as he can through the dusk. 

As it always does, Jensen’s mind disengages from the realities of his job and slips into an easy comfort in Jared’s presence. He’s all too thankful he’s allowed these moments, that he can put his worry away for the evening and think about easier things, like Jared building chairs for them to sit in and chat. 

“Still can’t believe you’re getting these done,” Jensen says with a slow shake of his head. 

“Not with any help from you,” Jared replies flatly, though Jensen can see a small curl to his mouth.

Jensen sets his battery-operated lantern to the grass beside Jared and pats at Jared’s cheek on the way up. “Not like you’d take it.”

“You know me too well,” he grins back. 

The warmth in Jared’s look, and especially his eyes, makes Jensen relax even further. With barely a second’s hesitation, his hand creeps up Jared’s shoulder and squeezes the back of his neck before tugging a few strands of hair away from his face. “Hair’s getting mighty long.”

Jared settles on one knee with his elbow resting on the other. He looks up with a crooked smile and his eyes narrow before easing to Jensen’s gaze. “Could be worse.”

“Not much worse. Stop being a slob,” Jensen jokes and lightly slaps at Jared’s cheek. 

He snorts, but he pushes Jensen hard enough to force him a few feet away as he stumbles to keep upright. 

Jensen laughs for the first time all day, truly smiling and feeling bright. Jared continues to make him feel that way through the setting sun, until they part for the night.


	4. Part Three

Wednesday feels like every other morning. 

Jensen rises, showers, and dresses. He tacks on his belt, holster, and badge, and checks the safety on his firearm before placing it at his hip. At the sink, he watches dawn bring light to his back yard as he eats a slice of toast and a few strips of bacon with his first mug of coffee in his other hand. The dishes are washed and in the drainer before he double-checks the safety on his gun and the locks on the back door, and heads outside. 

The ride into town features three school buses headed in all directions, farm equipment running in the far reaches of pastures, and the slow roll of Main Street opening up for business. J.D.’s got the Morgan Corner Diner up and running. From a leisurely pass in his police pick-up, Jensen can see the counter packed around the bend. He pulls around the side and parks at the edge of the alley as always, intending to grab a cup of coffee, say hi to the regulars, and nab the mid-week edition of the County paper. 

Inside, talk is excited while the air feels heavy. Upon Jensen’s entrance, everything hushes and each one of the patrons eyes him before looking anywhere _but_.

J.D. moves slower than usual, but he still fills a Styrofoam cup and drops a plastic top next to it on the counter with a nod. “Sheriff.”

“Hey, J.D.,” Jensen returns carefully as he looks down the line of the recognizable crowd. 

There’s Tom and Sue Duffy, recent retireds who always offer up used farm tools to anyone who would have want for them, Carl Hardy with his head down low, and a sprinkling of other townsfolk he’s known since he could walk. No one will look at Jensen when normally they all have kind, respectful smiles for him. 

“Everything going okay?”Jensen asks as he takes in the entire diner. Aside from the counter, there’re a dozen tables full for breakfast and paper-reading, but everyone is resolutely ignoring him. He ends his assessment with a firm look to J.D.

“Everything’s good. Slow morning.”

Jensen’s eyes again flip between the dining space and J.D., and he sees J.D. finally realize Jensen knows he’s hiding something. He makes a show of looking over J.D., the counter, and J.D. again, before he steps back with his coffee in hand. He keeps an eye on the crowd that’s purposely quiet yet busy as he grabs a paper off the newsstand near the door. With one last look to J.D., Jensen nods to the right and J.D. barely returns it with a tilt of his head. 

At his truck, Jensen tosses the paper into the passenger seat and puts his coffee in the console, but doesn’t get in. After shutting the door, he walks to the front of the truck with his hands on his hips and waits only a minute in the alley before J.D. slips out the back door. 

“What’s going on?” Jensen asks, voice pitched low with aggravation and suspicion.

J.D. wipes his hands on the towel hanging from his belt and grimaces. “Hardy says a cow dropped in his field.”

“You’re all hush-hush about a cow?” he asks, still wary.

“Carl says it was wrecked.”

Jensen’s interest changes and he stands straight, on guard. “What? Like a car hit it?”

J.D. scratches at the edge of his salt-and-pepper beard and gives Jensen a sideways glance. His voice is quiet when he says, “Mutilated.”

Jensen tries to work it out quickly. He’s never used that word to describe an accident in town, and he’s never heard anyone else use it either. “Anyone talk about missing equipment?”

Shaking his head, J.D. specifies, “It’s worse than Matty’s.”

“Has anyone asked Cathy about stray dogs?”

“Jensen,” J.D. says firmly as he fixes him with a long look. 

He’s immediately shocked by the use of his name, but he gets it. This isn’t some random animal death; there’s something wrong with two attacks. 

Spinning away with a quiet curse, he waves J.D. off and yanks the driver’s side door open, jumping in and turning the keys immediately.

Everything whips by in a blur. 

Carl Hardy’s field is streaked in blood, the innards of his bull spread in unexplained tracks. The carcass is just skin and bones, if even that, with its coat ripped from the inside out and hanging in tattered ribbons. 

Abel loses his breakfast in minutes. Jensen’s sure he would, too. He’s grateful he ate so little this morning and has been far too occupied to have finished his coffee. 

He and Abel take to nearby residences, but no one knows a thing nor do they seem to be covering for anyone. This town’s so small, Jensen knows their tells and he can’t read a single one during his questioning. 

Heading back into town, not caring how low the sun is slipping behind the horizon, he stops at J.D.’s for that coffee he never finished. The restaurant is now only half-full for a late dinner, and it quiets when Jensen steps inside. It’s a heavy silence but Jensen can’t worry about it as much as he did that morning. 

“How bad is it?” J.D. asks as a new pot of coffee brews. 

Jensen’s eyes roam the area but never meet anyone’s gaze. Not even J.D.’s. He’s used to exerting quiet authority or smiling for the folks, but he’s never had to consider something like what he’s experienced so far today – not as Sheriff – and he’s never had to explain it to others, either. 

He’s known J.D. all his life; he figures he owes him the truth. “It’s not good,” he responds quietly.

“What d’you think it is?”

He pulls his ballcap off and breathes deep, sensing the tense, intent looks from many in the room. With his hat in hand, he scratches at his elbow. There’s no way he wants to relive that scene for everyone right now. “How’s that coffee coming?”

J.D. takes a bit too long to turn back to the coffeemaker, putting Jensen at even more unease. He fills a styrofoam cup and caps it, all while tossing Jensen a few looks. “You think there’s a pack of coyotes out there?”

“I don’t know,” Jensen replies quietly as he grabs the coffee. There’re no signs of which animal – or _animals_ – are doing all this, but he can’t tie it to something like that. Not yet. He barely meets J.D.’s look before he nods, motions with the cup, and leaves.

It’s a longer ride home than he can ever remember. He barely drinks the coffee and only takes a large sip once he’s parked in his drive and gets out of the truck. The hour’s already in double digits, so he’s not surprised there are no noises or lights coming from Jared’s house. 

There’s the draw of walking over, not even caring that he’s still in uniform and geared up. He wants to decompress, release all that he saw, and let it leave his mind. He wants to make sure it doesn’t invoke memories from a lifetime ago, but he can’t manage to share the visuals with Jared. He never does, and likely never will. 

He tromps up his front stairs, through the house, up to the bedroom, and changes so he can collapse to bed. 

But he doesn’t sleep. He can’t stop the flipbook of all he went through in the day. He replays his initial stop at J.D.’s, talking to Hardy, looking over the grounds and finding the long path the bull’s entrails had taken to the south, questioning the neighbors, circling back with Abel without a clue about anything at all. Worse yet, his mind flashes back to even nastier pictures of his time in the Middle East where fellow soldiers were taken too soon and villages had been ransacked and desecrated. 

The coffee gets to him, too. He can feel his blood pounding with discomfort over the incident and the caffeine making it worse. He curses his last stop at J.D.’s, sure that he could have slept through his nightmares without coffee to keep him up. Instead, he relives them more vividly than he’d feared.

He’s sure it’s the middle of the night, and he must be dreaming, but he hears random pounding from beyond his house. He flips in bed and stares out the open window to his left. There’s a soft breeze rustling the weeds beyond his backyard, deceiving him into imagining a large hound walking through. A small corner of his brain can make out a man stooping low through the brush and pausing long enough to stare up at Jensen. Jensen swears there’s a quick sliver of moonlight reflecting in deep-set eyes, but it disappears a second later. He shakes his head and turns away for a second to pull himself back together.

When he chances another look out the window, there are new shadows in the next yard. The longer Jensen stays still, the easier it is to make out the noise of hammer to wood. 

Jensen rolls out of bed, yanks a sweatshirt and his gym shoes on, and then stumbles with the speed of leaving his house to head to Jared’s yard. Jared’s working on the final chair, dressed in cargo shorts and a v-neck yet no shoes. 

The sight is ridiculous at this hour. Before Jensen can make his presence known, he rasps through a dry throat, “What’re you doing?”

Jared spins with the hammer raised in alarm. His eyes are wide until he registers Jensen in what little moonlight makes it through the thick clouds in the sky. Jared’s voice sounds just as strangled and tight as Jensen feels. “I just … I couldn’t sleep.”

Rubbing a hand over his collarbone, Jensen slowly nears Jared. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I heard what happened.” Jared’s head tips and he frowns before admitting, “I was worried.”

Jensen’s eyes soften and slide down to nearly shut. There’s enough wreaking havoc on Jensen’s mind, he wouldn’t dare impose any of it on Jared. “Worried about what?” he asks, even though he’s afraid to know Jared’s too focused on what’s going in their town.

Jared drops his hammer and steps close, and before Jensen can realize it, Jared’s arms wrap him up in a warm, firm embrace. “About you,” he says softly, face pressing into the curve of Jensen’s shoulder. 

It’s dark as hell at this hour, but Jensen still feels his pulse pound as mightily as it had up in his bedroom as he tried to sleep. Jared close like this, outside, feels like too much, and yet not enough. He lets himself have the solid press of Jared against him and rings his arms right back around Jared to keep him in place. 

Jared’s hands run small circles across Jensen’s back and he keeps his head tucked down. “You didn’t come by.”

He nods into Jared’s shoulder and rests his arms around Jared’s waist, fingers loose but holding onto the belt loops of Jared’s shorts. “Didn’t want to tell you about it.”

“I heard about it anyway.” Jared runs his arm across Jensen’s back with his hand curling over the curve of Jensen’s neck and squeezing. “Kids at school are saying a monster ripped up Matt and Hardy’s animals.” Jensen simply snorts as he shuts his eyes, mind coursing through a mental book of monsters that could’ve done something this nasty to a defenseless cow. “How bad is it?”

“It’s just two cows. But it looks about that bad.”

“They’re talking about a town-wide curfew.”

Jensen swallows hard and he’s unable to find a good reply. It’s not a bad idea, he thinks. 

Jared holds tight for a few seconds then pulls back and strokes his hands over Jensen’s shoulders as he seems to assess him. 

“I’m okay,” Jensen says. He feels it a bit, especially right now as he talks to Jared.

“I don’t believe you, but alright.”

Jensen takes a deep breath to steady himself and pats at Jared’s side. “I’m sure it’s just some stray dogs or something.”

Jared’s mouth twitches between a frown and something even more concerned. After a few beats, he asks, “You want to come inside?”

He closes his eyes, about to joke about Jared’s chair staying unfinished. But he can’t manage it right now and takes the offer for what it is: a reprieve from his ugly memories. 

The second he nods, Jared pulls him in again. An arm rests protectively around Jensen’s shoulders as Jared directs them to the house. 

Resting on the couch with Jared at his side doesn’t stop the terror from finding Jensen in his dreams – a mixture of slaughtered animals laid to unrest in the fields and young soldiers in a desert. And he can’t manage to work out the right words to explain all of his worries, but they’re a bit easier to stomach when Jared’s sure hands massage at his back and calm him enough to finally find some peace.

Jensen’s eyelids are heavy as lead when he pries them open to sunlight in Jared’s bedroom. It’s a foggy scene to wake up to as he just barely remembers when Jared had convinced him to leave the couch for his bed in favor of honest-to-goodness rest. 

He’s conscious of having slept, but fitful dreams didn’t afford him much rest. All he remembers is falling to the mattress fully dressed and finally mumbling through all that happened that day, all he could still see behind his eyelids. He’d done nothing more than slip off his shoes, letting them drop to the floor without care for where they landed, and he must have yanked his sweatshirt off sometime in the night. 

He slips further under the soft comforter and turns into the pillows all while ignoring the sounds of Jared moving around downstairs. He has no want to move. Breathing deep, he catches the fresh linen scent of the pillowcase over traces of Jared and his cologne. He _definitely_ doesn’t want to leave this moment. Work is the last possible thing he could want right now, but it scratches at the back of his mind, reminding him of his responsibility and the mystery he still has to unravel.

Soon enough, there’s the soft shuffling of Jared in the room. The bed dips as Jared settles next to Jensen, sitting up against the headboard and nudging Jensen’s shoulder with a quiet, “There’s coffee.”

It’s about the only thing that will force Jensen up this morning, and he shifts just high enough to take the coffee without spilling. His belly warms with the hot coffee and Jared’s soft touch between his shoulder blades. 

“I know you want another ten hours of sleep,” Jared starts before Jensen interrupts.

“I slept fine. I can get up in a few minutes.” When Jared raises a skeptical eyebrow, Jensen sips more coffee without looking at him again. “It was warm as hell, but I slept. If only the county could tap into your body heat. They could start up a geothermal system to heat water for decades.”

“Well, aren’t you progressive,” Jared returns with a soft smile and roll of his eyes.

“It’s sustainable. I figured you’d like that,” he replies with a sleepy, forced smile.

“I do,” he agrees before dropping his voice and speaking slowly. “As I was saying, I know you want to sleep the rest of the day away, but Jake called.”

The thought turns his stomach. Someone from the department, someone in town, is looking for him at Jared’s. He’s horrified that they would immediately think to find him here. He can’t look anywhere but into the pit of his nearly-done coffee as he tries to keep his cool. “For what?”

“Theresa Franklin was brought into the clinic with some nasty dog bites.”

“And he called here?” Jensen asks tightly

“No one could reach you at your place and he asked me to check on you,” Jared replies easily as his fingers tap out a pattern on Jensen’s back. Jensen relaxes to both the explanation and the easy touch. “You should get some more coffee in you before you head out.”

“I can stop at J.D.’s,” Jensen mumbles before finishing off the mug in his hand and placing it in Jared’s lap. Jensen rolls the other way out of bed and grabs his sweatshirt from the ground as he rights himself and shoves his feet into his shoes. 

He’s near the bedroom door when Jared murmurs his name. 

“I’m fine,” Jensen replies in a fairly level voice. He even convinces himself of it.

“How long have you been having trouble sleeping?”

Jensen has the sweatshirt pushed up his arms as he stares at Jared. His mind puts numbers together, borrowing and carrying through the equation. “Seventeen years,” he admits quietly. He tugs the sweatshirt over his head and into place so he doesn’t have to see the sad eyes he can imagine Jared has for him. Moving to the doorway, Jensen pauses long enough to look back but his gaze never rises higher than Jared’s foot at the edge of the bed. “I’ll come by when I’m done tonight.”

By the time Jensen’s entering the Medical Clinic, there’s an undercurrent of worry. Chaos controlled but not altogether over. He nods at Stephanie behind the desk, a recent high school grad of a receptionist, and immediately inquires after who he really wants to see. 

“Where’s Danneel?” he asks, tipping his head to look around the lobby and back office area that’s strangely empty. 

Stephanie eyes him and he’s sure it’s for requesting the nurse’s assistant rather than the town doctor. He trusts Danneel’s word – and emotions – better than anything. Has for the last two decades of their friendship. He regrets calling for her, though when she appears at a side doorway and her eyes are solid on him with her lips tight to refrain from frowning. He knows this look, and it’s nothing good. 

When he first approaches her, they can be heard by Stephanie, so he casually asks, “Where’s everyone at?”

Danneel’s still frowning, leading him back the way she came. “We’re busy this morning,” she says strangely. 

As soon as they’re deeper into the hallway and alone, he gently holds her elbow. “What’s going on?”

Danneel’s eyes slide to the right. “Theresa was bitten pretty badly.”

“How bad? Why’re they calling me?”

She shrugs one shoulder and begins to chew at the corner of her mouth. He simply watches her. He’s not sure his patience can last through this, but for her, he’ll try. After a long moment, she rolls both shoulders and meets his gaze. “Moses bit her bicep and tore at the artery,” she explains, pinching the underside of her own arm to reference a spot close to her armpit. 

Jensen swears softly, thinking of the boisterous black Labrador the Franklins took in a few years ago. The dog’s always been something to chuckle at because while his long string of energy is often too much for one couple to handle, Moses is a loveable, loyal pet. “How bad is it?” 

Her eyebrows lift, as if surprised he’s even wondering. 

“Can I see her?” he demands more than asks.

Danneel sighs and shifts her eyes away, likely hiding irritation at his tone, but he can’t worry about sensitivity right now. She leads them to the busiest room in the clinic and Jensen gets one good look in the window beside the closed door. 

He sees Theresa Franklin, thirty-seven and normally a lively, lovely homebody. But now she’s barely able to keep her head up as the doctor takes her vitals. Her left arm is bandaged but it can’t stop the bleeding; red seeps through the wrappings wound around her upper arm. She’s pale and sluggish with the blood loss, unresponsive to those tending to her.

Jensen sighs at the scene, rubbing at his mouth before he can form the right words. 

“They’re gonna put Moses down, aren’t they?” Danneel asks from behind him. Jensen looks back, and she’s again gnawing at her bottom lip with worry. “Everyone’ll think he got to Hardy’s cow, too.”

“Maybe he did,” Jensen mumbles, even when he doesn’t feel too confident with that idea. He can’t believe Moses tore up his owner like this, let alone took down two cows in the last forty-eight hours. But apparently Moses _did_. 

Somehow, it still doesn’t feel right. Jensen can’t honestly imagine that Moses went after _two_ cows, but thinking otherwise leaves more to worry about. 

He ties up the conversation and leaves Danneel with a small, forced smile.

His next stop is to the Franklin’s ranch. Theresa and Tim Franklin have been married for just over twenty years, having met the county judge soon after graduating high school. Both have remained young – physically and emotionally – always running across the yard with Moses and inviting in-laws and high school friends out for Sunday barbeques. 

For all that Jensen’s ready to talk nice with Tim, he can’t stop for a single breath when he gets out of his truck because there’s a shotgun firing off behind the house. Jensen races around the home to find Tim jogging out towards the waist-high grass that’s barely hiding Moses escaping his owner’s aim.

Jensen unlocks his holster and his gun as he jogs near, shouting at Tim to drop the gun. He’s not ready to draw aim, but he gets antsy when Tim turns towards him with the gun still in his grip. “Drop it, _now_!” Jensen yells again.

Tim does just that and kicks the ground. “Goddamn dog,” Tim shouts at the tall grass that shields his dog. He puts a good deal of space between Jensen and himself, and spits at the grass before releasing a hard sigh with his eyes trained in the direction Moses ran off. “ _Was_ a good dog, Jesus,” he mutters with one hand going to his side, palm pressed in tight and fingers tucked together.

Jensen puts his gun back, locks it, and then nears Tim. He tugs on the man’s wrist and flinches at the stain of blood on Tim’s shirt. “You okay there?”

Tim lifts his hand and uncovers tears in the fabric giving way to a fresh wound. He places the hand back and puts more pressure on his side, but winces with the effort and stares at the ground. “Stupid dog came at me when I went back to check on him just after I took Theresa in.” When he lifts his head, tears build in the corners of his eyes. “He went at Theresa.”

“I heard,” Jensen says with all the sympathy he can muster. He’s never been close to the couple; they were a few years ahead of him in school, but no one turned a bad eye on them. No one deserves what the wife’s facing right now. “What happened with Theresa? Why’d Moses go after her?”

“It was breakfast time?” he offers angrily. “Lord if I know.” Suddenly, Tim turns sad and nearly begs. “Sheriff, you know Moses is a good dog. You know he’s never gone after anyone before.”

Jensen rests his hands at his waist and looks over the land. He licks his lips as he tries to find the best words. “I know that. Except that he’s gone after the both of you now. For no reason,” he finishes with a quick glance at Tim. After a few quiet moments, he asks, “You know two cows have gone down from animal attacks this week?”

Tim raises a sharp eyebrow, disbelief filling his features. “And you think he did it? Hell no.”

Flipping fingers out from his belt, Jensen motions at Tim’s injury. “He did that.”

There’s no immediate answer, but Tim breathes deep before he speaks. “Can you just promise to not gun him down?” Tim makes a face and shrugs awkwardly. “I know I was about to, but man, that dog’s getting on my bad side right now. Just, if you could, maybe you can grab him and let me be there when Cathy puts him down?”

Jensen makes a skeptical face, but he quickly trains it to something more professional. “No promises. But we’ll do what we can.” Jensen points at Tim’s hand, still tucked tight at his side. “You should get that looked at.”

“I bet the Doc’s all wrapped up in fixin’ Theresa,” Tim says with a strangled tone.

“Get it looked at,” Jensen insists. 

Tim nods then runs his free hand over his mussed-up short, dark hair. “Can’t remember the last time I saw a doctor, and now both me and Theresa are gonna be there.” Jensen nods sympathetically as he leads Tim towards the front yard. “Is she doing okay? She was bleeding pretty bad on the way.”

He lies with a swift nod and careful smile, because there’s no reason to deliver bad news right now. “She’s doing good.” Then he gives a direct look to make his point. “You go straight to the doctor, do whatever they tell you, and then you call me the second you see Moses.”

“Cross my heart,” Tim replies solemnly.

It’s late, but Jensen keeps his promise when he’s done with his day, and heads over to Jared’s. He’s still in his uniform, but he’s intent to make the immediate stop no matter the hour. 

Jared eyes the firearm at his hip as he holds the side door open for Jensen. 

“It’s locked,” Jensen promises of the gun once he’s in the kitchen, though Jared still seems uneasy with its presence. 

“How bad is it?”

Jensen doesn’t bother to ask what Jared’s wondering about. The whole town already knows. “They took Theresa to Mercy over in Randall County, and Tim got a few stitches. Right in and out.”

Jared leans at the sink, crossing his arms and giving Jensen a long look. “She’ll be okay, right?”

Just to distract himself from the image of Theresa’s sunken cheeks and glossy eyes, let alone Jared’s stare, Jensen moves to the fridge to grab himself a beer. 

“Right?” Jared repeats.

“She’ll get help at Mercy.”

“How bad is it?” Jared repeats with more worry in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Jensen answers. His tired shrug caps his annoyed tone as he slumps against the closed fridge.

Jared gives him a hard look. “Jensen.”

“I’m not a fucking doctor, Jared,” Jensen returns with a similar look and opens his arms in anger. 

“I’m just asking–”

“And I’m just saying,” Jensen snaps back.

Jared throws his hand out in aggravation as he turns to the counter and stares out the kitchen window. 

Jensen sighs and drinks while tugging his uniform shirt from the belt. They’re not saying a word to one another and Jared’s more focused on his backyard. 

There’s something tight to the air, making Jensen question how he can breathe with the tension between them. For all the times they’ve talked, it’s never felt like this. It’s never been hard to keep conversation going between them, but Jensen lacks patience after this long day. He doesn’t have the will to answer each of Jared’s questions with _I don’t know_ and face Jared’s doubt or concern. 

Jensen’s seconds from putting the beer down and going home when he see an odd tilt to Jared’s head as he keeps staring through the glass. When Jared leans further over the sink and turns his head to look to the right, Jensen stands straight. 

“What is it?” Jensen asks quickly. 

Jared doesn’t answer. He just leans a little closer then tilts his head even more sharply. 

Jensen joins him at the counter to catch whatever it is that has Jared’s attention. “What’d you see?”

“I don’t know,” he says, though it sounds more like a question.

“Moses?” he asks quickly.

“I don’t know,” Jared replies, strange once again. Then his breath catches loudly and Jensen slips closer to watch the yard. “There,” he whispers and points, drawing Jensen’s gaze to grass sweeping with shadows darting through the far end of his yard. 

Jensen’s out the door before Jared can say a word, even though Jared keeps up with Jensen’s jog across the lawn. Jensen pulls his gun out, unlocks it, and holds it tight between two trained hands. He shuffles quickly, moving to the east end of the yard, and fully prepared to aim and fire if needed. 

And he thinks it is because he can see something. He’s sure it’s an animal crouched down and darting through the cornfields that neighbor Jared’s yard with stalks rising chest-high. His heart races and fingers tingle with adrenaline. 

He pushes at Jared away and points sharply. “You stay here.”

“What?”

“Go back to the house.” Jared’s eyes widen and he straightens his shoulders, proving his height. Jensen can’t care for a second and points at the house. “Go _inside_ and don’t open the door until I come back.”

“Really?” Jared gives him a wild-eyed look then huffs at him. “Like you don’t need help trapping a rabid dog? Let me help so neither of you get hurt.”

“Jared,” he says firmly, but with less anger and more concern. “Please.”

“What’s been going on? What’s going on that I can’t help with a dog?”

Jensen’s intense glare is enough to force Jared to step away, shaking his head and muttering on his way back to his house. 

Eyes focused even in the dark, Jensen combs the area and his ears are alerted to the soft _whoosh_ of dark leaves sweeping against each other. He shifts to the right and slips as quietly as possible into the cornstalks, twisting his shoulders this way and that to avoid making a sound. The animal keeps moving ahead of him, darting from side to side with more speed and noise, and Jensen steps with every _swish_ of stalks as the animal rushes within the overgrown maze. 

The sounds halt and so does Jensen. He crouches so his eyes are just above the tallest leaves, and his gun remains cradled in a sure grip. His finger is tucked against the trigger as he hones in on the soft, manic breathing just over his right shoulder. 

Jensen lets his eyes wander toward the noise, head turning inch by inch as he logs the dark shadow huddled behind him. Maybe ten feet away, if that. He sends a silent prayer into the atmosphere then spins toward the animal, only to be shocked into action when it charges him.

Jensen turns forward and runs between jagged stalks, ignoring how his arms are cut up by each one he passes. As fast as he gets, he still can’t outrun the beast on his tail. He’s counting its steps and his own, counting down the seconds until it reaches him. When there are just a few heartbeats left, Jensen twists towards it and he jumps back as it leaps at him. He raises his gun, imagines a blue and red bull’s-eye, and fires right at the center of its upper body. One-two-three bullets dig into the animal, and it cries out in pain as they both fall to the ground. 

The gunshots echo and pound in his ears along with his adrenaline-fed heart, and his mouth falls open as he gulps in the cool night air. He clamps his palm around the butt of his firearm as he shifts just a foot away and then faces the animal, ready just in case there’s any life left to it. But there isn’t, and even in the dark, the horror of what lies next to him is obvious. He shoves himself back a few more feet and he gasps in shock, eyes wide in horror to the sight of Tim Franklin lying among broken cornstalks. 

A quick once-over tells Jensen that the man’s hands are bloodied and his jeans are nearly shredded, exposing more wounds. Ones Tim had likely gotten by racing through these crops on his hands and knees. Worse yet, his cheeks are sunken and force his eyes out, and his lips are a mess of broken skin like he’d chewed on them for days on end. Jensen last saw Tim Franklin twelve hours ago and he looked healthy aside from the worry for his wife and dog. And now, he lies dead by Jensen’s weapon. 

Back in the desert, in his late teens and early twenties, Jensen had shot at a good number of people. He’d hit some and killed a few. They were all armed enemies. 

In Morgan Falls, he’s never fired his gun at anything that wasn’t painted in a red-ringed target. He’s never seen someone fall lifeless from his own hands and had to face them just after. That, added to the horror of being chased down by a man he’d interviewed just this morning, shocks Jensen into silence. With his gun held tight, he raises his hand in anger, pressing the back of his wrist against his mouth to trap sickened noises inside his throat, but he can’t stop the tears building in his eyes. 

“ _Jensen!_ ” 

Jared’s voice is more frantic when he yells for him again and again.

Jensen looks up to the sky, cheeks now wet with tears. His voice is rough as he calls out, “Yeah,” and wipes each side of his face against a shoulder. “I’m okay,” he yells back, not believing it himself, but answering on command.

When Jensen rises to his feet and walks out from the brush, Jared’s halfway into the yard. Jared’s fists are clenched at his side and his eyes are big with worry, trained on the gun still tucked in Jensen’s right hand. 

There’s no way Jensen’s letting it go right now, no matter how much Jared always jumps at the sight of it. Not when his nerves are shot and he has to pull himself together to do his job right now. 

He marches past Jared with just a quick glance and a quiet, “I said to stay inside.”

Jared steps beside him as they walk back to the house. “What happened? You shot it?”

“Yeah,” he replies succinctly. 

“And?”

He spares another quick look to Jared but he can’t meet Jared’s eyes for long. “And he’s dead.”

There’s a soft, sad noise and Jared slows his feet. “God,” he whispers. “Poor dog.”

Jensen stops in place but can’t bear to turn to Jared, and he drags in a hard breath. 

“He was going after you, right? You had to,” Jared says softly. He places a warm palm on Jensen’s back. “Right?”

Jensen’s grip tightens on his firearm at the memory and he flinches when Jared says his name again, finger tapping the trigger. Mind getting into gear, Jensen makes quick work of locking the gun and placing it in his side holster. He takes a deep breath and looks beyond Jared to the spot where he swears he can make out Tim Franklin tucked within the corn stalks. It’s just his imagination, but he can still vividly picture Tim’s body hunched over on itself, mouth dropped open and eyes rolled back to show only white. 

Jensen wipes his hand over his mouth then covers it as he tells himself, “Gotta call Cathy. And Abel.”

“Jake? For what?” Jared steps in front of Jensen and holds onto his gaze. Jensen hurts with the burden of telling Jared who he shot in the field. “You can’t handle a dog?”

His eyes search Jared’s face, debating what all to say. Like tearing bandages, he just does it. 

“It was Tim.” 

Jared doesn’t react, eyes staying on Jensen like he doesn’t get it. 

“Tim Franklin. I shot Tim Franklin,” he clarifies, voice breaking and dropping off near the end of his admission.

“Are you serious?” Jared asks on a hard breath. 

Jensen lowers his gaze before cautiously finding Jared’s eyes again. He slowly nods. 

“Are you kidding?” Jared asks with disbelief. “Why would you do that?”

“Because he was chasing me!” Jensen explodes, shoving both hands out towards the field. “Because that crazy shit was running after me like a damn attack dog and I had no choice but to shoot!”

Jared’s eyes are unearthly wide and he pushes his hands through his hair as he looks in the direction Jensen’s pointing. 

“He was coming right at me, Jared,” he tries to explain, but Jared’s still staring into the field.

Jensen can’t stand the shock and fear on Jared’s face, so he turns away and marches around the back of the house to get to his own. Jared keeps after him, trying to get his attention, but Jensen stays on his course. He refuses to stop and see just how scared Jared is of him at the moment. 

He had no choice, he tells himself. No choice at all. Jared can’t judge him for this. He shouldn’t judge him.

Jensen reminds himself that there’s no time to consider all this. He has a job to do and a body to account for. He steels himself against the panic and pulls his phone out to make an immediate call to Abel, instructing him to head to Jared’s with the insistence that Jared will fill him in – even when he knows Jared can’t report much. Jensen refuses to wait and rehash the moment or continue to see the horror on Jared’s face. 

Jared grabs him at the truck and throws the door closed before Jensen can get it fully open. “Stop and talk to me,” Jared demands. He forces Jensen against the driver’s door so he has to face Jared and see the anger that’s now overwhelming his normally handsome features. 

Jensen hates this look more than the one he’d been dreading the last five minutes. 

It’s a staring contest, and Jensen loses when he looks towards the dim headlights of Abel’s truck heading down Marcum Road just a few miles away.


	5. Part Four

The police department is dead this time of night. Officer Kelly has the night shift and is slowly flipping through one of Maggie’s magazines in the absence of anything to do. 

It’s unearthly quiet until Jensen runs into his desk and things scatter off the top of it. He’s blinded by darkness because he’d been too stubborn to turn all the lights on when he first came in, and he curses himself for working under a small desk lamp for the past hour.

Kelly appears in the doorway with a hand patting the wood frame. “You okay, Sheriff?”

“I’m wonderful,” he returns sharply. “Get Danneel Harris down here right now. And I wanna talk to someone from Mercy in Randall, the nurse overseeing Theresa Franklin or someone else on her case.”

The young officer makes a strange face, ignorant of what all happened at Jared’s. Jensen would normally inform his young charge, but at the moment, he just wants answers. When he showed up at the station, he left his explanation in the form of _there was an accident_. 

Kelly does as he’s told and Jensen’s on the line with a floor nurse whose voice is clipped when she reports, “Theresa Franklin was taken to the morgue six hours ago.”

Jensen checks the clock on the wall. Six hours ago, he’d been looking over the paperwork for her transfer to Randall County’s hospital. Her wounds had been bad, as he’d witnessed himself, but he thought she’d hang on under the right care.

“She was?” he asks as he stands and takes a few steps away from his desk.

“Yeah, she was. It’s been a mess of a night, as you can imagine.”

He shifts to the window but doesn’t quite make it; the cord of the desk phone only allows so much. “She bled out?”

“Not like you’re thinking,” the nurse returns quickly. “She was manic and in the middle of a transfer to the psych unit when she went even _more manic_ and jumped two nurse’s assistants.”

Words stall in his throat at the image, but when he considers his chase with Tim Franklin, he’s not wholly surprised. “And?”

“She scratched one up and tried to bite the other’s ear right off. Then she started scratching and tearing at her own body.”

“Christ,” he whispers harshly, tucking the phone tight to his cheek.

“Christ can’t save her now,” the woman replies without sympathy. There’s a long pause until she takes a loud, sharp breath. “Was she in trouble out by you?”

Surprising himself, Jensen replies rather levelly, “Her husband got himself killed tonight.”

“Oh, Lord, this family,” she sighs. “What’d he do?”

“He went a bit manic as well,” he says cautiously. “You have any bloodwork to run along with her husband’s? 

She gives off a short laugh. “You think they were on something?”

Jensen can’t answer. He can’t begin to hypothesize what’s happened between the Franklins. Ignoring her question, he chances, “Just a favor for a county neighbor.”

The woman releases another sigh but concedes. “Yeah, I’ll see what we can do.”

As he’s tying up the call, his cell buzzes and it’s Jared’s name on the display. He hangs up on the nurse but doesn’t answer the new call. He stares at his phone for a bit, watching Jared’s name flash and running this thumb over the screen. 

“Sheriff,” Kelly interrupts. “Ms. Harris to see you.”

Jensen pockets his phone and nods, watching as Kelly leads Danneel into his office. Jensen motions at the wood armchair in front of his desk with a tight, “Take a seat, Dan.”

She looks worse than even the stress of this day could account for. Her hair is mussed and her clothes appear a bit ragged and hang oddly, even as she tugs on a long cardigan sweater to hold herself together. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Your little guy woke me up,” she mumbles, voice dry and scratchy.

Jensen calls for coffee for the both of them, and after a careful moment of sharing a sad smile, he leans forward on his desk with a soft look. “You remember anything strange with Theresa Franklin?”

“You mean besides her bleeding right out of her arm for hours?”

They go quiet when Kelly brings them coffee, and Danneel drinks from her cup rather fast, but Jensen can only curl his hands around his mug and stare down at it. He’s mesmerized by the rising steam, and he thinks about the cup Jared had brought him that morning. If there were a way, he’d return to that moment and change a thousand things between then and now.

Jensen runs his hand over his mouth and looks anywhere but to her. “She died at Mercy.”

Danneel’s voice is soft and controlled when she replies, “Losing that much blood, I’m not too surprised.”

His eyes meet hers for a quiet second before they slip down to his untouched coffee again, not wanting to consider her reaction to his news. “She attacked the hospital staff then went at herself.”

Her eyes widen yet the rest of her face freezes. Jensen can see how hard she’s bracing her reaction. Her voice is just as tight. “What do you mean … ‘went at herself’?”

“I can only imagine,” he replies miserably as he does himself the disservice of reliving the way Tim Franklin went after _him_. Once the memory’s passed, Jensen sits up and trains his voice into one befitting the Sheriff. “Tim got hurt tonight, too. When they bring him into the clinic, I want you to set blood and tissue samples aside along with some of Theresa’s so we can run tests.”

Slowly, she repeats, “So we can run some tests.”

His head drops into a minor nod as he regards her apologetically. “So _you_ can.”

It takes time for her to respond, as if she’s running over every word again. “How’d Tim get hurt?”

There’s no reason in hiding at this point, he figures. Especially with her. “He was shot.”

“For what?”

“For attacking the Sheriff.”

Danneel’s eyes fall with emotion and now they’re sharing a softer gaze. “Are you okay?” she asks with care.

“Yes,” he replies immediately.

“How about Tim?”

“No.” 

She shifts in her seat and breathes deep, seeming to pull herself together. “Okay. Whatever you need.”

There isn’t more to say; Jensen’s out of words at this point. He walks her to her car and insists she keep an eye out and an ear open. He all but demands she do everything in her power to stay safe. 

He sticks around the station and combs the police database and then the internet for anything of this magnitude that’s actual truth. He finds a slew of videos showing random animal accidents and far too many web sites built by conspiracy theorists. Nothing eases his confusion and anxiety. 

Jensen stays until he can’t stand to anymore. When he pulls up in front of his house, he does his best to remain quiet at four in the morning. He only showers, changes, and heads right back out, aiming his truck north to Randall County. The ride wastes nearly two hours and he spends another few talking to anyone on the hospital staff that had spent a minute with Theresa Franklin.

The only story is that she seemed relatively normal and in pain until she didn’t.

His ride back to town is anti-climactic. The sun’s rays are enough to call the day sunny, but Jensen can’t see much beyond bright clouds all while his mind wheels through everything. 

He thinks over what happened at Jared’s and relives the fear that ran through him, only outweighed by the adrenaline telling him to shoot. He’d never shot a man at close range before. He’s never had to race for his life and turn and shoot at a moving target. Long range was all he experienced in the service, and more often than not, he could move on without seeing the subsequent damage. 

It scares the hell out of him to have done it, to have shot a man he knew for most of his life. But when he thinks of what could have happened had he not, he loses any manner of guilt and calls it a good shot. If Tim Franklin had caught him, Jensen would paint the same picture as Hardy’s cow, and then if he’d moved on toward the house, Jared would be … Jensen can’t even think beyond that. Saving Jared’s life in that moment is the only piece of information his brain needs to excuse himself of the crime.

He wastes daylight in the office and more hours at the Franklin’s, checking the house for any item out of the ordinary. By the time he’s home to sleep for the night, he can’t rest thanks to countless cups of coffee. He paces the kitchen without turning on the lights, stays up in bed and idly flips through his copy of Theresa Franklin’s file with the bedside lamp on, and, for short periods of time, he sits on his front porch. 

He lets his feet stretch down the steps as he grasps his firearm in his hands, and stares out into the fields stretched far in front of him. They’re dense and unending from this view. It’s all one flat plain with dusted crops that just won’t quit, no matter the weather and attention they do or don’t receive.

The gun’s locked, but his finger flirts with the safety because with every bare sound in the night – a cricket singing to his left, an owl in a tree too far to be seen, or simply the wind threading through tall grass – he’s tempted to flip the gun to ready. Even when he doesn’t, his heart thumps with the anticipation that he just might have to. 

When the sun slivers into the corner of his eye, he stands and proves to himself the safety is in place before putting it into the back of his uniform pants. These last few days he can’t convince himself to do more than exchange one uniform for another. At night, he keeps his undershirt in place and clean even when he eats over the sink or inhales stale coffee all night. It’s the same dusty uniform colors day in and day out, and he hopes it’ll trick his brain into thinking it’s not a week of questionable horror, but one solitary day.

Danneel says Theresa Franklin’s bloodwork shows anomalies neither the clinic nor the county labs can explain. Tim’s, too. And the traces of Moses they could find in the home. 

People are getting antsy. 

Jensen’s downright restless and ready for hell to break loose in his town. 

As he stares back out on the land at midnight, there’s a distinct smell in the air. Copper, maybe. 

He tells himself he’s imagining it, that he needs more sleep. He knows he needs to look out for other residents instead of focusing on two dead ones, but he can’t ignore how the wind carries something distinct towards him and his stomach turns. He’s afraid of what the next day will bring.

At the station, he dazes with his eyes locked onto random marks in the stain of the paneled walls. He’s almost thankful to get a call, to have a reason to leave his too-quiet office. 

For the ride out to another farm, in response to a new report of an injured animal, Jensen thinks only of Jared. They haven’t talked since the whole mess started with Tim Franklin. Jensen’s been avoiding the matter in favor of needing to sort this town out.

Whether Jensen’s ignoring him or not, Jared’s the only thing he can think about without running himself up the wall.

Morgan Falls isn’t known to gain new residents. Jensen can’t remember the last time it did, though he supposes it was by marriage or children and not outright choice to pick up and settle here. But the town buzzes with the news of a new biology teacher moving in. 

Jokes are passed around that Jared Padalecki has picked the worst house in the county – the only one within 100 yards of the Sheriff’s. Jensen snorts and shakes his head, lets them talk, and figures he’ll let Jared get settled before he says one word about the badge he wears. 

It takes a few days to actually see the man despite summer pulling everyone out from their stuffy, un-air-conditioned homes. He’s puzzled by not having seen his neighbor, to be honest. 

Maggie says the teacher hit Morgan High early to set up his classroom and office. Jensen’s impressed with that information, both that Maggie has it and that the man is young, single, and apparently driven for work. Not that he tagged his new neighbor as lazy, but the sad state of canary lawn chairs circa 1975 on his wrap-around porch and overgrown plantings in the yard don't say much to the positive.

People in town turn it into the story of a recluse. They say Jared’s a giant – at least seven foot, Hardy claims – and that he must have some sort of haunted past or incapacitation to keep him indoors. From Maggie’s quick fly-by with the man on Main Street, she says Jared’s not so bad looking and “insanely tall.”

On a sunny Sunday afternoon in June, Jensen’s mowing his backyard and sweating right through his tee. He pauses after every few lines of the massive lawn, yanks his shirt up to wipe his face off, and removes his sunglasses to clear sweat from his eyes. 

He looks over to Jared’s house in curiosity and logs the worn-down shingles atop the two-story and the faded trim work along the eaves. And when he starts to evaluate the second-floor windows, it all clicks into place. Jensen laughs with a loud snap of amusement because it’s pushing 100 degrees outside and Jared has a window air-conditioning unit. 

Of course Jared never leaves his house. No one would want to with such a creature comfort.

On every turn of the lawn mower, Jensen glances up to the unit again and figures that it must be the master bedroom. He keeps looking up there, drawn to the air conditioner because, for all the years he’s lived in Morgan Falls, his family never put up the money for one and he never thought twice about adding one to his house. He’s survived this long without it.

Near the end of his mowing, Jensen tugs his shirt all the way up to wipe his face and all across his neck. When he stands upright, there’s someone in the window by the A/C unit. 

Jensen startles before shaking his head, figuring it’s the neighbor he has yet to meet.

It’s a long moment of Jared watching him, and it takes a few seconds before he moves to the side of the window, yet Jensen can still see him. Jensen can only make out a shoulder, arm, and shadow of a head, but he knows Jared’s still watching him. 

He feels strange, yet he’s not all too bothered by it, really. Maybe Jared does keep to himself, or maybe he finds it odd that the Sheriff tends to his own lawn. Jensen’s heard sillier things around this town. 

When Jensen’s finished and back inside, he grabs a cold beer, cracks it open while standing in front the open fridge to cool down, and drinks a third of it before he takes a breath. He thinks of that air conditioner again and laughs softly. _Of course_.

He washes up and changes into clean shorts and a tee then grabs two more beers and decides to finally make himself a good neighbor. 

Jared’s front stairs creak louder than any Jensen’s heard in town, which forces him to frown. It’s a shame for a new homeowner to be stuck with an unstable porch. 

He knocks as he takes in the full picture of the house. It could use a paint job, definitely a stain on the porch and railings if they're not outright replaced, and the windows are in need of a good washing. Jensen does his best to remember when someone last lived in this house, and he figures it’s been empty since Roger Thompson moved his kids down south so his oldest son could have a better chance at a baseball scholarship. That was at least five years ago.

When the wood door is pulled back and the screen door whips open, Jensen’s shocked by the sudden, ratchety noise and, worse yet, by Jared. Maggie was right; he’s _insanely tall_ , half a head higher than Jensen stands at six-two. But he’s also quite a bit better than _not so bad looking_. For the first time since Jensen came back to Morgan Falls, he feels the telling stir of his stomach and heat in his legs. 

But he ignores it. He has to in a town like this and with the job he has. 

“Hey,” Jared says awkwardly. 

“Hi,” Jensen offers, but before he can say more, Jared’s speaking again. 

“You’re my neighbor, right?”

Jensen smiles carefully and moves forward with his hand out. “Yeah, I am. Jensen Ackles.”

He smiles easily as he grips Jensen’s hand in a firm shake. “Jared Padalecki.” 

They keep the hold and shake slowly but no one lets go for a few beats; Jensen can’t stop staring at the broad swipe of white teeth in Jared’s bright smile, and he just keeps holding Jared’s hand. 

Jared finally releases Jensen’s hold and bites at the corner of his lip. “I saw you mowing out there earlier.”

He nods and gives Jared a long look. “Yeah, I’d noticed that.”

“I was just curious,” Jared manages quite calmly, and then adds, “About my new neighbor.”

Jensen’s not sure what he reads here. He knows what he’d like to, even if it scares him to consider doing anything in a town this small with mouths this big. Instead, he focuses on his intention in coming by. “I don’t cook or bake much, but,” and he offers the second bottle in his hand, “you up for sharing a housewarming beer?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jared says gently as he takes the bottle and looks down at it. He motions behind himself. “My place isn’t really set up yet.”

“I’m good out here,” Jensen replies as he looks around Jared’s porch. Then he adds on with a tiny yet sharp smile, “Unless you’re afraid of a little heat?”

Jared licks his lips, and rakes his gaze over Jensen’s face as he steps onto the porch. “I can handle some heat,” he replies with a bit of heat there himself. 

Two seconds later, wood cracks and Jared’s foot falls through broken porch boards. Jensen’s right there with his arms around Jared’s waist and heaving him upwards to take the brunt of Jared’s bulk. Jared’s arms drape over Jensen’s shoulders and they’re terrifyingly close, Jensen thinks, but they don’t move away all that quickly. It takes a few slow steps to get Jared to balance on one foot as he tugs the other out of the nasty hole that seems like it could’ve broken wide and swallowed him whole. 

Jensen pats at Jared’s chest once they’ve both got their wits about them. “I think you need a new porch.”

“What for? I’ve got you, my hero,” Jared jokes back. 

He shakes his head and turns away, drawing the bottle to his mouth and drinking. But he can’t stop or even slow the smile that flashes on his face. It stays in place for most of the next two hours that he and Jared get to know each other. 

As their time passes, Jensen realizes he can’t wait to show up to the station in the morning and taunt Maggie with all that he knows of Jared. That the man moved here for one of the few job openings he could find after being let go from a school three states away thanks to budget cuts. That he's searching for a fresh start after a stressful year of unemployment and a relationship gone south. That in just two hours, Jared’s decided he’ll rebuild the deck, paint the windows, and wash the whole exterior of his new home before school starts. That he’s got a soft spot for the health of marshes and wetlands, and can’t wait for the chance to drive across the region and photograph the few he knows of and dozens more he hopes to discover along the way. 

Now, Jensen has the best stories to tell Maggie.

But by the time they're done and Jared has rattled off a good deal of his history, Jensen thinks better on it and shares a soft smile when he and Jared part. He’ll keep this knowledge to himself.

His work carries him late into the evening, far beyond dusk. In that time, three more cows drop, Hardy’s gone missing, and Jenny Sanders, an old maid sort who’s kept the same house for forty-some years, is found dead on her back porch. Her body is slumped in her rocking chair and a small revolver is still clutched in her right hand, resting in her lap. There’s just one wound at her thigh but the stains on her clothes and the porch proves that the bleeding had drained her of energy and life before she could complain. The trail of blood down the steps tells Jensen that Ms. Sanders had decent aim and some _thing_ is out there hurt and slow, if it’s survived. 

As soon as Jensen gets home, he changes and puts all his gear away, content to have a second when he’s not armed, when he can pretend this isn’t reality. But then his cell rings and Abel says they’ve found Moses. The dog’s been torn apart by shotgun pellets at the hand of Stan Turner, when he’d been sure Moses was coming after his own pup. But then the way his legs are broken says something else got to him before he was shot. 

Abel assures Jensen that Cathy’s looking over the dog and Randall County will handle Ms. Sanders. Meanwhile, he’ll check the scene and report back to Jensen in the morning.

Jensen lets it all stew inside as he stares out his bedroom window. There isn’t much to look at with the overhead light preventing him from seeing into the night. But he keeps his eyes moving across the backyard. Once he feels comfortable that there’s nothing out there and his mind won’t play tricks, he goes to the kitchen and grabs himself a beer, sipping slow as he keeps watch out the back window. The way the cornstalks rock back and forth seems odd. The rhythm doesn’t match a beat in his head and he slowly makes his way out to the backyard and walks halfway across the lawn. 

Jensen stands deep in the yard while his beer goes warm and untouched in his hand. He peers into the cornfields with his eyes steady as they sweep left and right and his ears trained to any noise that isn’t just a gentle sway of crops. 

Soft footsteps approach him and he whips his head to the left as he absently reaches for a gun that he’d stowed away in his bedroom hours ago. He curses himself for it but then sighs in thanks when he recognizes Jared’s shadow approaching. With another deep breath, Jensen turns back to the field and tips his beer around, thinking of taking a sip. Instead, he hands it to Jared, who accepts it and slowly drinks while intently watching Jensen.

He instantly feels a sting of guilt that reminds him he’s barely talked to Jared these last few days. He hasn’t done more than reply to a few texts and briskly tell Jared he was _busy, but doing fine_ when he actually managed to answer one of Jared’s calls. He knows he should’ve checked in with Jared to see how he’s doing, especially since everything started with the incident in Jared’s yard. 

Jensen berates himself on it all because the drag in Jared’s steps just now tells Jensen he hasn’t been doing all too well. 

“It’s late,” Jared mumbles. 

“I thought I saw something.”

For half a minute, there’s no noise other than their soft breathing and an even softer breeze through the stalks. Jared seems to slowly asses Jensen and taps his finger against the bottle “How bad is it?”

Quiet but honest, he replies, “Real bad.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jensen takes his time to consider the offer then draws his eyes past Jared and into the pitch black night. When Jensen looks at him again, he feels exhausted and unable to put words to anything. “About what?”

Jared’s words come fast but sound more concerned than spiteful.“You killed someone in my yard, for one.”

He stifles a quick response and takes a few seconds to pull the right words together, just as he’s been doing since it happened. “He was coming after me. I didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m not saying you did.”

“Then what?” Jensen asks sharply, even when he doesn’t intend to fight. For years in the service, when every activity was ugly and filled with enemies, Jensen guarded himself and stuck to what had to be done. Less talk and emotion; more action and reaction.

Suddenly, Jared looks tired. He seems utterly helpless as he bites into his lip and drags his gaze across the land that spreads from the back of their yards. “What about everything else going on?”

Jensen restrains himself and only purses his lips. “We don’t know what’s going on.”

Jared reacts angrily, huffing and spitting out, “Jensen, come on!”

“We don’t,” he says, spinning at Jared. Yet he’s apologetic with his arms out and voice going easy. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on or what’s doing this to everyone.”

They stare for a while and Jared murmurs, “You shot someone.”

Jensen swallows roughly and barely manages to keep his eyes to Jared’s when he admits, “I’ve shot a lot of people.”

“That’s different,” he replies softly.

There’s a crash from inside Jensen’s house, making them both flinch. Not a second later, Jensen races up the back stairs, shouting for Jared to stay put, but Jared doesn’t.

They run into the house, Jared right on Jensen’s heels as they pass through the kitchen, the dining room, and into the front hall. They find the couch thrown into the corner and Carl Hardy upending the coffee table before he turns to face them. Jensen spreads his arms out to keep Jared back, protective instincts flaring up. 

He and Jared breathe heavily as they watch Hardy twitch and growl. The sixty-something farmer’s been missing for two days but now he’s a terror with his skin streaked in dirt and blood, lips dried and cracked, and his eyes wilder than anything Jensen’s ever seen. 

“Jensen,” Jared whispers anxiously. “What the …”

Jensen stands tall and keeps his hands back, holding Jared’s hips as he shifts them around the room to circle Hardy. 

“What’s going on, Carl?” Jensen asks as levelly as possible. “Where’ve you been?”

Hardy growls in reply, his mouth watering and filthy saliva dripping down his chin as he steps closer. 

Jensen’s about to attempt more conversation but Hardy charges them, and Jensen twists around and shoves Jared out of the room so they can run down the hallway. Jared makes it around the corner and into the back foyer but Hardy leaps at Jensen, pulling him to the ground. They grapple and turn over each other, Hardy scratching up Jensen’s arms every time he grabs for him, and Jensen only gets off a few defensive punches. Jensen scrambles to his hands and knees and shuffles forward. When Hardy gets on Jensen’s back, Jensen swings around and lands an elbow to Hardy’s eye, sending him back in pain. 

Jensen jumps to his feet and races up the stairs and into his bedroom. He yanks the top drawer open, tugs the small chest out and onto the dresser, and fumbles with the key hanging from his neck. His lips work through rushed pleas to calm down, move slow, and get the gun out. 

Hardy runs into the room and tackles him again, and through the fighting, Hardy yanks on Jensen’s chain and snaps it, sending the key under the bed. Jensen tightens a hand tight around Hardy’s neck to keep him as restrained as possible, but Hardy’s still swinging and scratching at Jensen. When Hardy wraps both hands around Jensen’s neck, Jensen avoids fighting it, too afraid to force more pressure to his throat, and focuses on retrieving the key. Jensen reaches under the bed but he can’t touch the key, fingers stretching but never touching it. 

Jared appears over Hardy’s shoulder and he pulls on the farmer’s shirt, trying to pull him off Jensen, but Hardy swings and smacks Jared across the temple, forcing him back in a daze. Hardy jumps off Jensen and goes right at Jared, and for all that Jared pushes and swings at him, Hardy still knocks Jared back again. They wrestle against the window and Hardy bites at Jared’s shoulder just as Jensen yanks him off, and then Jensen and Hardy are fighting and falling to the ground again. 

Jensen lands a solid punch to Hardy’s face, slowing him down, but not stopping him. Jensen shouts to Jared for the key then gets jumped by Hardy again. They each get a hand to the other’s throat and Jensen shoves his free hand at Hardy’s chest and a knee at his hips, trying to force him as far away as possible, but nothing works. Hardy’s hold is much too tight, and Jensen’s air comes in short bursts. 

Through the harsh breathing and rough growling in Hardy’s throat, Jensen hears the distinct snap of a safety. In a split second’s reaction, he shoves Hardy upward and shuts his eyes in a quick, silent prayer just before the gun is fired then two more times in succession, and Hardy drops to Jensen’s side. 

Jensen opens his eyes to Jared standing above them, gun tight between his hands and his face a mess of emotions that Jensen refuses to catalog. When he’d told Jared to get the key, he hadn’t thought this far ahead. He hadn’t imagined Jared actually grabbing the gun and pulling the trigger; he just wanted to recover the key. 

Jensen slides to the side and checks Hardy, thankful when there’s no heartbeat or movement left in the man. By then, Jared’s fallen to his knees and dropped the gun to the rug, eyes wet when he looks at the scene. Jensen moves to Jared, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing harder than he can ever remember holding a person before. 

He leans back and gently tips Jared’s face to see the red bloom at his forehead then the tear at his shoulder. The skin’s ripped but not too awful, and Jensen shuts his eyes with a chorus of _thank you_ running through his head that Jared’s not seriously hurt. 

“Are you okay?” Jensen asks quietly. 

“Yeah. I just had–” Jared says, voice breaking. 

Frowning, Jensen keeps his eyes on Jared’s, even when Jared won’t look anywhere but at Hardy’s lifeless body behind them. That’s when it crashes upon him: Moses attacked Theresa and Tim and they went off. Hardy’s cow dropped just a few days ago, and Hardy had gone crazy. 

Carl Hardy was infected and he _bit Jared_. 

Jensen grips Jared’s shoulders and searches his face, wondering how long it takes for someone to turn, if there’s any indication that he can rely on, or one he can feel safe with when it doesn’t appear. “Hey, do you feel okay?” Jensen asks, thumbs sweeping over Jared’s cheeks until Jared’s eyes slowly make their way to Jensen. 

Jared remains quiet as Jensen lifts Jared’s eyelids and tries to measure each of his pupils and judge the redness around his eyes. Jensen figures – more like prays – that it’s just a reaction to the incident and this scene. He has to believe that to retain his own sanity. 

“You’re bleeding,” Jared mumbles as he stares at Jensen’s uniform shirt, splattered in Hardy’s blood. 

Jensen loses the shirt in seconds, white undershirt just barely stained with most of the blood staying with the polyester. “See? I’m good,” he says to ease Jared, pressing hands into his own chest and going so far as to lift his undershirt to show his body is intact to prove there’s no more blood. 

Jared closes his eyes and his shoulders sag. Shifting forward and shoving all wayward thoughts into the far corners of his mind, Jensen gets to his feet and drags Jared with him out of the room. He leads Jared to the front porch then heads back inside to call Abel because someone else needs to be here to log the scene. 

He goes back outside to join Jared, feet heavy as he takes the stairs and sits beside him. 

Even today, Jensen can still picture the night he first fired a bullet that hit another human being. A cool night in the desert with gunfire everywhere, and Jensen punched the trigger, distantly hearing a wail of pain seconds later. He had to proceed through the battle; there was no time to think on it until they’d taken control of the enemy’s command center and could walk without danger. 

He still remembers how stiff his muscles had gone and how tight his jaw stayed as they finished their patrol and covered the base until relief came in the morning. It’s not an easy memory to lose, and it’s metastasized over time. On a good day, it’s a dull ache at the root of his spine that can be overlooked. On a bad one, it’s as fresh as yesterday. As fresh, he’s sure, as the way Jared’s seeing everything right now.

A glass of water sits beside Jared on the top step, but it remains untouched. He stares into the field ahead of them but won’t do more than blink until Abel’s truck comes into view when it takes a right onto their road. Jared falls forward with his elbows on his knees and his head down low. 

Jensen slips near with a protective arm over Jared’s shoulders and a soft hand cradling Jared’s face to pull him in. “It’s okay,” he whispers at Jared’s ear. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

Jared doesn’t answer, and Jensen nudges Jared’s chin so they can look at one another. He palms Jared’s face, warm and sure hands on each cheek, and focuses right on Jared. He’s looks so scared and so small right here, and Jensen can’t do anything but feel his heart break. 

Jensen clears his throat and, for Jared, puts strength into his voice. “You had to do it. He would’ve killed me, and then you. You had to, and everyone will know that. They’ll understand.”

“I hate guns,” he mumbles, eyes slipping down Jensen’s face as they fill with tears. 

Jensen’s chest tightens with emotion, and he brings Jared back in, tucking Jared’s head just beneath his chin not only to comfort Jared, but so he can hide the moisture building in his own eyes. It’s a tender, needed moment that can’t last long enough to ease either of them. 

When the SUV gets close, they separate, and Abel parks beside Jensen’s truck. Abel and Kelly both exit the SUV, nodding as they walk up around Jensen and Jared without a word. Jensen figures he’d said enough on the call to demand his officers’ presence. There’s no need to fill in the blanks right now. 

Time passes quietly as Jensen stays at Jared’s side. He brushes his hand over Jared’s back, up to his neck, and idly combs through the ends of Jared’s hair as he murmurs reassurances that Jared won’t be in trouble, that it had to be done. Jared has no response but his breathing seems more regular and his eyes stay dry. He also spaces out every few minutes, which alarms Jensen, and they stay close together on the porch. Jensen constantly moves his hand to keep Jared’s attention as best he can. 

When Abel comes back out to the porch, Jensen stands and meets him at the top of the stairs. They talk softly and briefly, Jensen recounting what happened in short sentences and vague details. When he’s done, Abel looks over the marks on Jensen’s face and arms, and insists they get cleaned up at the clinic. Abel says he and Kelly will handle the scene here, and Jensen suggests they call someone. 

“This is so far above us,” Jensen mumbles as he glances off to Jared’s house and further down the road, stomach churning with worry of what’s really happening in this town. “The county or even the state. Just run up the chain until you get an answer.”

It takes Abel some time to answer, and it’s a slow, “Yes, sir.” 

Jensen goes inside for his keys, eyes only going where they need to, and grabs the ring from the table in the living room. He can make out the mess through the hallway from he and Hardy fighting, but he keeps on path and leaves immediately. His only job right now is to take Jared into town and get them cleaned up.


	6. Part Five

Danneel acts professionally, yet Jensen can read the nerves in her quick glances between him and Jared, who sits across the room on another gurney. Her discomfort is obvious the few times her fingers stumble with cleaning his shallow wounds and placing bandages, but he can’t really blame her, seeing as she’d been called in just to clean them up. Her short questions go mostly unanswered as Jensen has far too many _I don’t knows_ in reply, not daring to start any nightmares for her. 

He watches Bethany, the on-call, overnight nurse, tend to Jared the entire time. He tries to ignore the shape Jared’s in: face battered, shirt collar cut to give Bethany more room, and eyes blank and pointed at his lap. No matter what’s asked of Jared, or how long Jensen watches, Jared doesn’t do more than nod or shake his head as he keeps his eyes down. 

Jensen aches with Jared’s pain. He wants to sit next to him, comfort him, reassure Jared of everything one needs to not be this despondent. But he knows he can’t. He decides to focus on Danneel’s care instead.

Jensen’s not home for two minutes when the doorbell rings. He’s just reached the top of the stairs, but he spins at the landing and marches right back, boots thumping on the way down. They’re heavy and feel more uncomfortable than the thick uniform he hasn’t lost yet. Polyester serves him no favors on these hot summer days, and he loathes having to wear it for a second longer than required. 

He pulls the door open and rests his arm against it, hand reaching above his head to hold it in place. He’s ready to sigh and frown at Jason or Danneel or even Maggie wanting to keep him from decompressing from his day, any one of them trying to drag him out for a dinner just so he’s not alone. But he puts away the morose feelings and stands straight with his heart speeding up at the sight of his new neighbor. 

“Hey, hi,” Jensen says quickly to Jared’s hesitant smile. “Hi there.”

“Hey right back,” Jared replies with a chuckle. “Sorry if I’m bothering?”

“No. You’re no bother,” Jensen insists as he subtly takes in Jared’s appearance. Even with the flattest of flip flops, Jared is absurdly tall, and casual with khaki shorts worn pale and a navy blue v-neck that not only brags for his tan but also taunts Jensen for all that he can see of the dip in Jared’s throat, glistening with perspiration. Jensen feels a lump in his own throat and swallows through it as he pushes the screen door open and steps onto the porch. 

He just barely avoids Jared’s eyes, all so he can get a handle on his knee-jerk reaction to his neighbor on the porch. “What can I do you for?” he asks easily then bites into his lower lip to keep from visibly cringing.

Jared’s laugh is light and breathy until it’s cut off in shock as he stares at Jensen’s shirt. 

Jensen glances down at his uniform and spreads his hand over his chest with worry that he may have spilled coffee or dripped lunch when he had no clue. But he doesn’t see a thing. “What?”

Jared’s eyes are aimed at the badge on Jensen’s chest, and his eyebrows go high with awkward surprise. “You’re a cop,” he says oddly.

“Well, no-”

“I moved in next door to a cop,” Jared laughs to himself as he licks his bottom lip and starts to spin away, only to snort again. “It’s like I’m just asking for trouble.”

Jensen’s breath catches first at the image of Jared’s tongue flicking out and then at the way his tan arm flexes when he reaches up to push hair away from his face. Jared’s words finally register, and Jensen chuckles awkwardly. “Actually, I’m the Sheriff.” 

Jared lets out a fractured kind of laugh and when he shifts to the side, Jensen can finally spot two beer bottles clutched between long fingers of the hand Jared had been keeping just behind his hip. 

His cheeks are flaming at the thrill of Jared coming by and the gesture of those beers. Jensen motions towards the bottles and tempers his smile into a slight smirk. “Those aren’t open now are they? I could haul you downtown for that.”

“Is it considered bribing an officer if I was about to offer you one?” Jared tries with a hesitant look.

“God, I hope not. I’m pretty thirsty,” Jensen returns with the tip of his head. 

Jared’s sight drops lower and he suddenly looks worried, possibly spooked. His lips curl in and Jensen can tell he’s struggling to say something. Or maybe not say anything at all. 

Jensen backpedals immediately, afraid he’s gone too far or talked too soon. For all that he tries to read Jared here, he’s sure he’s looking too much. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, aiming to brush it all off. “I should probably head in and get something to eat before drinking,” he adds, a bit lamely, he’s afraid.

“No, it’s just,” Jared mumbles as he points the beers towards Jensen’s waist. 

His firearm is still in his holster, and with Jared’s reaction, he’s embarrassed for it. “Oh, the gun?” he asks quietly with his hand covering the butt of it. 

“I’m sorry, it’s dumb, but I just don’t really care for them,” Jared rambles. “It’s probably stupid to admit to you, being the Sheriff and all, but it’s just-”

“No, don’t worry,” Jensen assures him, fumbling with the best exit from this moment. “Give me five and I’ll be back down and dressed more like you, or something,” he chuckles to himself. He hardly believes he could look as good as Jared does so laid back in this moment, but Lord help him, he’ll try.

Jared bites into the corner of his mouth and slowly nods; it’s an image much too young for his height and build. 

Just seconds into his bedroom, Jensen’s rushing to dress down, gear going on top of the dresser and he stops and reconsiders it right there. His mind starts running through all possibilities of how to better store it all now that he knows Jared will halt at the first sight of it. _Later_ , he tells himself and yanks his uniform off. He starts to sweat with the hurry, and he has to stop, stare in the mirror, and breathe slowly to calm down. He tells himself to relax, that it’s just a beer. Just a drink on his front porch with his neighbor.

The neighbor he can’t stop thinking about. 

He curses himself for refocusing on that, and forces himself to comb through the other drawers for a shirt and shorts. He settles on the thinnest polo he owns, threadbare from too many washings, but it’ll look good, feel soft, and keep him comfortable in the summer heat. It has a collar that grants him more confidence than any faded print or ring-collar tee he owns. He blames the job for that complex, but he can’t waste more time thinking it through. He’s already put far too much effort into this than need be. 

Just before the front door, he skids to a stop and looks in the foyer mirror. He runs his fingers through his hair, roughing up the professional side part, and nearly matting it forward and down just to look less like the Sheriff and more like _Jensen_ , a man in his thirties who barely knows his neighbor but is already smitten.

 _Oh God_. He lightly punches his forehead to smack those thoughts back into hiding and takes a deep breath to relax.

When he steps onto the porch this time, Jared is seated on the top stair with one beer already opened in his hands while the other sits next to him, waiting for Jensen. Neither says a word, but they exchange a few glances as Jensen sits beside Jared and takes the beer. He lifts it towards Jared and they clink them together with a smile. 

After a few quiet sips, Jensen dips his head down, thumbnail cutting under the label on the bottle. From the corner of his eye, he sees Jared looking over occasionally. But it takes a while for Jensen to muster up anything to talk about. He squints out into the sky above where the sun is aiming to disappear but is still too bright to look right into. Jensen almost wishes he’d grabbed a hat on the way out, but when he can see Jared eying him again, he’s glad his view is clear.

“Sorry about the gun,” Jensen finally says.

“It’s okay,” Jared replies quietly before taking a long drag from his beer. 

“I usually take it off upstairs,” he explains quickly. “I’d barely gotten in inside when you showed up.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jared says with a bit more strength to his voice. “It’s your job and all. Just, I hope you don’t expect everyone to love guns, right?”

There’s a tightness to the words and Jensen waits for the tension to dissipate before he chances getting to the base of Jared’s stress. He’s got a feeling on this. “I wear one because I have to. I’m not in love with them myself.” Jared nods and Jensen finds himself fumbling for more words and blindly ambling on. “With the right training it’s not so much a weapon as it’s a method of protection.”

“No, I know,” Jared replies quickly with his eyes resolutely placed ahead of him. 

There’s no going back, so Jensen finally asks, “Did something happen before? To make you not like them?”

Jared runs a hand through his hair, pushing it off both sides of his face as he takes a long breath. “My family’s big on hunting.”

“And you’re not,” Jensen guesses.

“And I’m not,” he says with a nod, and Jensen nods and drinks slowly. He doesn’t bother to force it but Jared goes on, voice quiet and low. “My dad and brother kind of bullied me into learning how to shoot and going with them. I’d go with just to spend time with them. We were all real close. But after a while, they pushed a gun into my hands. The first trip like that, I shot a deer. They were over-excited, and I wanted to cry the whole ride home.” Jared releases a soft, angry laugh. “Pretty embarrassing, you know?”

Jensen gives him a soft frown and sympathetic glance, but wisely stays silent.

“Since then, I’ve been set against them. Seeing that animal drop,” Jared says bitterly, shaking his head. 

He knows the feeling, no matter how many different weapons he’s held in his life. “I was in the Army, Desert Storm,” he admits quietly, thumb rubbing at the torn label he’s been scratching at. “I don’t like them that much either. Not anymore. But it comes with the territory. Comes with protecting people, which is what I get out of the job here.”

When it’s been quiet far too long, Jensen looks over and Jared’s watching him, eyes careful, but turning warm the longer they share the look. “Anyway,” Jensen says with as light a voice as he can manage. “Heavy business for a second impression,” he chuckles. “I bet you’re regretting coming by now.”

Jared breaks into laughter, a sharp change from their conversation and Jensen holds onto the sound of it and the vision of Jared’s broad smile. “Not at all. Cozying up to the Sheriff is the best bet in town. Or so I hear,” he adds with a wink.

“It’s more like an investment,” Jensen says with his beer to his lips, trying to hide the smile he can’t stop.

“Good thing I’m patient.”

Jensen chances a quick glance and Jared’s eyes are elsewhere, but he’s doing much the same: holding the lip of the bottle to his mouth as he grins. 

The beers are finished soon enough, and he and Jared are set to end the moment. They haven’t run out of subjects, though they haven’t exactly attempted to broach many either. The pauses between conversation are comfortable as the sun sets beyond Jared’s yard. 

Jared stands first, knees cracking and back popping as he stretches. His movement reveals a sliver of tan skin just above his waistband, not far from Jensen as he’s still seated. 

To avoid any major embarrassment, Jensen bites into his tongue so he doesn’t lick his lips inappropriately or say something worse, and he stands with a hand out. “Thank you for the beer,” Jensen says. “And for stopping by.”

They shake hands, warm palms pressed tight and eyes friendly with gentle smiles. “We should do it again.”

“Definitely.”

Jared holds the shake but doesn’t say anything. His hand slides from Jensen’s as he steps away and down the front stairs, glancing over his shoulder as he crosses the yard, and Jensen waits until Jared’s inside to move. He scrubs fingers into the back of his head and curses himself even as he grins over the evening.

Jared’s patched up first and led from the room by Bethany. Jensen sighs heavily as Danneel keeps working on the marks across his left arm and inspects the early signs of bruising along his neck. She makes a small sound but refuses to look at him. 

“He tried to choke me,” he explains softly.

“Why?” she asks, keeping the room as quiet as possible.

Jensen tips his head up and his eyes comb the stark white ceiling tiles as she applies ointment to a few scratches near his jawline. “No clue.” 

“That’s two people now who’ve gone at you.” 

Jensen merely hums in return, completely lost on how to respond. 

Her eyes flicker up to his then back to the mess of his neck as she murmurs, “Good thing Jared was there.”

He shuts his eyes and tries to weigh how good it really was. Jared shooting Hardy – crazy or not – may not compare to the sight of Hardy doing more harm to Jensen. 

“He’ll be okay, right?” he asks. “The bite and everything,” he clarifies, well aware that emotionally, Jared won’t be anything near okay for a while. 

“It didn’t look too deep, but Bethany would know better than I would.”

It’s far from what he means, but he’s afraid to delve deeper. He starts slow. “How was Theresa when she was here?”

Danneel looks at him, stalling her work just below his ear where he can feel the cold sting of the ointment she’d just applied. “You saw her.”

“She was here for a few hours after I left,” he points out. “Did she say or do anything strange?”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?” Danneel sighs, going back to focus on the scratches along his ear. “She was bleeding pretty bad but hanging on. Fairly coherent considering how much she was losing.”

Jensen isn’t relieved in the slightest. It’s only been an hour since the attack at his house, and there are no signs he knows to look for in Jared. He’s helpless, but he tries to shake the worry from his bones. 

He waits until Danneel’s finished, remaining quiet and keeping other thoughts to himself, though he can’t stop the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, or the way his pulse picks up in worry of Jared. 

Danneel not-so-subtly holds at his wrist while swiping an alcohol pad over a few knuckles, and he knows she’s checking his pulse. Their eyes meet and he’s nearly compelled to tell her everything he sees in Jared, how often he thinks about him and what those thoughts contain, and how much fear fills him right now for what might happen to Jared. 

He wants to tell her just what Jared really means to him, but his mouth refuses to let the words go. He’s never spoken aloud what his true intentions are for his neighbor and he’s never spoken of anything like it before. No one in town knows why the Sheriff is single, except to assume that he’s too good for the women he knows or that he has priorities higher on the list. Over the years, Danneel’s prodded here and there, but a few summers ago, she gave up trying to figure him out. He appreciates that of her. And even though there’s a corner of his mind that wants to talk about it, to have someone to share all these heavy feelings with, he can’t break down that wall and let them out or someone in.

She’s concentrating on her work at his scratched hand when her voice comes softly. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” he replies after a rough swallow.

“You were out of it earlier,” she starts slowly. “Were you thinking about the Army?”

He’s admitted to her in the past that he figures he’ll never lose the memories of his time in the service. She knows they come and go. And now, with all that’s been going on here in town, he can’t stop the flood of _Jared_. Jared is his only priority. 

“Thinking about a lot of stuff,” he says, lifting his gaze to hers. He wonders if she’ll ask anything more pointed. He wonders if he could answer her honestly. 

Danneel rubs her thumbs over the final bandage then leans in to kiss his forehead. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers.

He bypasses any reply beyond a tiny, grateful smile as he stands and asks, “Where’s everyone at?”

“Probably up front or in Recovery?”

He nods, thanking her for her help as he passes, and roams the halls until he finds Jared in an empty, poorly-lit treatment room. There’s no equipment in what’s little more than a closet, just a filing cabinet in one corner and a padded bench in the other that Jensen knows is used for patients to rest on until they’re ready to walk out the door. It’s basically a waiting room to free up patient rooms, but there’s no need for it in the middle of the night. 

Jared’s sitting on the bench with his back to the wall and his knees up with his arms draped over them. Jensen approaches with a soft, “Hey,” and joins Jared, sliding next to him. They’re touching completely along their sides, and for all that Jensen wants to clutch Jared’s hand and touch his face and hold him close, he simply leans against him for support. 

He knows it’s stupid to ask Jared how he is. The answer is obvious in the absence of Jared’s attention. Instead, Jensen reassures Jared, and himself. “You’ll be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Abel will get some people down here and we’ll find out what’s going on.”

Jared hasn’t spoken since Jensen’s front porch, and his voice is hoarse for it. “Until then?”

“Until what?”

Slowly, Jared turns to Jensen. “What do we do until then? Until someone comes and fixes the town?”

Jensen bites into his lower lip so hard it burns through his jaw and down to his chin. “For one, I’m not gonna let you out of my sight.”

“We were _in sight_ ,” Jared returns pathetically. “I saw it all, and you still almost died.”

“But you saved me,” Jensen says, hoping it will convince Jared otherwise. “We survived, and we’re here and we’re alive.”

Jared rubs at his nose with the back of his hand. He rests his elbow at his knee and presses his face into his wrist as he breathes heavily. “How did Carl get … like that?”

There are theories building in Jensen’s mind but he can’t share them with Jared, not when they could lead to his greatest nightmare of Jared becoming just like Moses, the Franklins, and Hardy. Turning into something that will have to be stopped. “I don’t know.”

For a quick second, Jared rubs over the bandage at his neck. “You think I-”

“You’re fine,” Jensen insists, mostly for himself. “I’m looking right at you and you look perfectly fine.”

Jared turns to him again, eyes searching Jensen’s before they slant away.

Jensen’s sure Jared will break if they have to speak more. He softly strokes over Jared’s cheek, tucking hair behind his ear and brushing back to his neck. “How about you rest? Lay down for a little while until something comes up. We won’t leave here until we have to.”

Shutting his eyes, Jared ducks his head down further but then he nods and shifts when Jensen moves off the bench. 

Jensen refuses to leave the room until Jared’s settled as well as can be on the bench, which doesn’t have room for all of Jared’s height, but it’s something. Jensen keeps the door open, turns out the last of the lights, and stands in the hallway, a bit away though not so far that he can’t see the very tip of Jared’s shoe. 

When he’s confident Jared will be okay sleeping, he marches through the clinic and locks doors and windows, double checks everything, and tells Danneel they’ll be okay through morning. She and Bethany give odd looks, but let it pass, apparently eased by Jensen’s authority. 

Hours crawl by and Jensen checks on Jared in between keeping Danneel and Bethany company. The women skate around talk of what happened at Jensen’s home, how Jared’s doing, or what’ll be done come morning. Jensen’s grateful they don’t push and he changes subjects fast as he can to keep them occupied. 

There’s a knock at the clinic’s front door and Jensen shares a look with each woman before he slowly approaches it. He flicks through Venetian blinds to see into the dawn and he’s not sure he’s comforted or ready to panic. 

On Main Street, there’s a unit of state guardsmen and a commander is standing on the other side of the door. At least a dozen uniformed men are patrolling the downtown street and Jensen’s hesitant to open the door, even for relief. 

When he does, the paranoia prickles along his spine, but he won’t consider himself a fool for it. Stranger things have happened already. 

The man on the doorstep, with an inch or two on Jensen and strands of light blond hair tucked under his hat, drops his head in a nod and puts a hand out between them. “Sheriff Ackles?”

“Yes,” Jensen replies without shaking it. “And you?”

“Sergeant Miller,” he answers, glancing at his hand before pulling it back. “Your Deputy’s been making some calls.” Jensen keeps his eyes steady as he catalogs every man in sight. He looks back to the Sergeant and the man asks, “You mind if we step in so we can talk?” as he thumbs behind him to a couple of guardsmen off to his left. 

Jensen’s been counting this whole time and for twenty seconds, nothing has changed outside, or in. There are officials on site, ones higher than him, and he should be grateful. It takes another five seconds for him to breathe easy, step aside, and let Miller and his men in.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Jensen says quietly. “It’s been a pretty strange few days.”

“So, I’ve heard.” Miller takes in the room and accepts quick introductions of Danneel and Bethany with a polite smile and handshake. 

Jensen feels defensive, still, and takes a wide stance with his hands on his hips, though he tries to appear as casual as possible. “Don’t always know who’s safe.”

Miller nods again then glances across the lobby, eyes pausing at the three doorways that lead elsewhere in the clinic. “Your deputy said there were two of you who were attacked at the house?”

At the thought of Jared, Jensen’s fingers squeeze at his hips. “Yeah. One other guy.”

“I’d like to see him?”

“For what?”

“Just checking all the bases.” He gestures at Jensen’s neck. “How bad did the attack get?”

Jensen absently rubs over his chest to keep from touching his throat. “I’m fine. We both are.”

“Any immediate contact with Mr. Hardy?”

His stomach spins at that and he’s gets lightheaded as he can’t tear his eyes away from the Sergeant. “Why?”

“We’re concerned about transmission. It’s a blood-born pathogen.”

From the corner of his eye, Jensen can see Bethany and Danneel each considering their hands. They’d cleaned up as regulations require, but he can’t blame them for a bit of panic. He’s alarmed enough for them all on Jared’s behalf. “What is?”

“From what I’m told, you’ve seen the Franklins’ bloodwork,” Miller says.

“I’ve seen a lot more than that,” Jensen replies with a tiny huff. “I’ve seen cows torn apart and regular, do-good residents go off the deep end.”

Miller cocks his head and smirks. “So you understand where I’m going with this.”

The way the sergeant says it leaves little room for Jensen to argue without seeming uncooperative. He’s not aiming for that, but he wants to keep Jared sheltered as long as possible. Yet, if it really is passable via blood and wounds, Jensen’s absolutely terrified with what’s possible when it comes to Jared.

“Is there a cure?”

“Sheriff,” Miller replies sternly.

Jensen sighs and shoots back, “I’m just asking if-”

“Most of your town is a threat right now. To you, and your friends,” he says as he motions towards Danneel and Bethany. “Not to mention themselves.”

His mind reels at the thought, that there’s a possibility the residents have all turned on one other. 

“Sheriff,” Miller commands again. 

Jensen snaps to attention but his voice is apprehensive when he says, “Yeah, alright. He’s in the back.”

As the three men follow, hard footsteps pounding loudly along with Jensen’s heart, Miller asks, “Is he still alive? Contagious?”

“Yes and no,” Jensen replies firmly. He hopes he’s right.

“Are you sure?”

Jensen stalls before the dark room, overwhelmed by the sight of Jared still on the bench. Even more relief floods him when Jared shifts yet remains asleep; he can feel his nerves burn in satisfaction that Jared’s been able to rest for all this time. Ignoring Miller’s latest question, Jensen approaches Jared and crouches beside him with a soft but casual hand lightly grabbing at his neck. “Hey, Jared. Wake up for a second.”

Jared’s groggy and slow as he turns to his back, blinking himself awake and staring at the ceiling. His eyes slide to Jensen before his sight is drawn over Jensen’s shoulder to Miller entering the room. 

As Jared drags himself up to sit at the edge of the bench, Jensen stands next to him and makes introductions. He’s not surprised when no one will shake hands – Jared’s off-kilter and Miller’s skeptical. Jensen sets a comforting hand to Jared’s shoulder, squeezing at the curve of it. “Sergeant Miller’s heading up the Guard. They came in to take care of everything.”

Jared looks up to Jensen, his face a dull mask hiding any emotions. When Jensen nods in reassurance, Jared sighs and briefly shuts his eyes as his face twists with relief. “Okay. What do we do now?”

Jensen manages a smile. “Get some stuff at your place? I bet they want to check mine for–”

“Actually, Sheriff, we’d like to talk to Jared. Take him down to our medical center at the fairgrounds.”

“What medical center?” Jensen asks.

“At the county fairgrounds,” Miller repeats easily. 

“Since when?”

Miller smiles affably. “Since a little while ago.”

Something tips and Jensen feels on edge, leery in the worst way possible. “How long’s a little while?”

“We’ve been monitoring the situation, Sheriff. Nothing we’re not aware of.” Miller looks to Jared and smiles. “If you’re ready, we’d like to escort you down there and get some talkin’ out of the way.”

Jared glances up to Jensen, barely showing emotion on his face but Jensen can sense the worry. 

“Okay, yeah,” Jensen allows as he keeps watching Jared. “I’ll head out there with you.”

“We’d rather you stay here and help direct the men then we’ll get you out of town.”

“Wait, what?” Jared asks worriedly. 

Miller seems to ignore any concern and easily says, “We need to keep Jared solitary right now. Check his wounds and keep an eye on him.”

“For what?” Jensen asks harshly. The Sergeant gives Jensen a hard look and Jensen sighs roughly. “No, hang on,” Jensen interrupts before Miller can get another word out. He slides his hand off Jared’s shoulder and motions both hands towards Miller, hoping to negotiate. But his anger flares when the two guardsmen move closer to Jared, one slipping behind Jensen and pulling on Jared’s arm to force him into standing. “Now just wait a minute!” he shouts for attention. “He’s not leaving!”

Jensen’s ready to make a firmer point, but Danneel yells in panic for him from the front lobby, and he’s torn between the two. The honor of the job kicks in for him to take check on the sudden uproar in the front of the building but everything else screams to stay put. 

“Sheriff, he’ll be fine,” Miller says calmly. “Our medics will check his wounds and treat anything, and you’ll be safe with our crew heading out.”

The guards take Jared to the lobby and Jensen follows right behind them. He doesn’t know what the answer is here, but then he spots Army medics surrounding Danneel and Bethany. “What’s going on?” he yells as he shoulders his way into the center of the group. From what’s left of the scene, the medics have pricked Bethany and are registering _something_ with lancets placed into hand-held devices. 

The man to his right determines Bethany, “Positive,” and two men pull her from the group as another guardsman reaches for Danneel.

Jensen immediately grabs Danneel and shoves her behind him. “No! What’re you doing?!” he demands. 

When a guard pushes Jensen away, he shoves right back, and a handful of men rush from somewhere behind him. They’re not just guardsmen; there are true soldiers holding Jensen back from fighting, and next he knows, he’s struck from behind and drops to the floor, sight going fuzzy before black.


	7. Part Six

When Jensen wakes, there’s darkness keeping him from figuring out where he is. He then feels a hard stretch in his neck from where it’s strained over Danneel’s leg, her fingers combing through his hair and her thumb padding just behind his ear. As he comes to fully, he catches slivers of light through the window blinds and from under a closed door. He realizes they’re both on the bench he last saw Jared on, and they’re the only two in the room. He rushes to sit but goes dizzy with it and groans as he leans over his knees. 

Last he remembers is trying to keep Jared in the clinic and then standing by Danneel. The Guard, he remembers them, too, and now he can’t imagine anything good taking place while he was out.

“Where’s Jared?” he mumbles as he registers a pounding at the base of his skull. 

She scoots next to him and carefully holds the back of his neck as he sways and feels woozy. “They took them to the medical center.”

Jensen runs his hand over the back of his head and feels a small bandage at the source of the ache. The Guard, he thinks, one of those guys knocked him right out, and he gets lightheaded with the frantic worry of what’s really going on. 

“Jared and Bethany?” he asks, trying to trigger more of what happened.

“Yeah. They’ll be okay, right?” 

He glances over, and the worry in her eyes makes him want to comfort and assure her everything will be fine. But he’s unsettled knowing Jared isn’t under his security and that he has no clue what they’re doing to or for him. It’s just as bad to consider that Bethany could be infected, as if it was from treating Jared.

The door to the room is shut but they can hear the bustling of soldiers and guardsmen on the other side of it. Jensen pats his pockets, but they’re empty. His cell phone and wallet are gone. “We gotta get out of here. We have to get Jared.”

Danneel’s eyes slide over his face. “Why?”

“Because,” he answers simply. “Do you have your cell?” 

“No, they took it.”

“Of course.” He stands and inspects the window leading into an alley between the clinic and a used book store.

Danneel makes an odd noise then asks, “What if they’re sick? Miller said it’s contagious and Jared-”

“He’s not,” Jensen insists.

“You don’t know-”

“Dan,” he cuts her off sharply then motions at the small cabinet he’s about to shove out of the way. “Are you helping or what?”

“We’re sneaking out the window?”

Jensen breathes deep then faces her and attempts the most level voice he can with all of the anxiety rumbling in his veins. “I don’t know what’s going on any more than I did yesterday. But I don’t feel good about this. I’d rather know where Jared is. I have to find him.”

She stands and meets him near the window but it’s obvious she’s not with him yet. She’s sympathetic, though, when she says, “Jensen, it’s the Guard. You told Jake to call the Guard and they’re here to help. They’ll fix it. Everyone will be okay.”

“They knocked me out because I was protecting you.”

Her face twists as she considers it, stealing a glance over her shoulder as if she can see through door or is waiting it to open. “You really think they’re doing something wrong?”

“I don’t care how right they might be,” he argues, voice rising. “I’m not sitting here while our friends are out there. What about Bethany? Or Jason, or anyone else we know in this town? They said everyone was in trouble.”

Danneel fully turns to the closed door and then visibly swallows when she faces him again. “Do you think Jason’s okay? Or his family?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. She doesn’t respond and he has to grab her attention with a hand at her elbow. “I’m not leaving you here while I go find out. Please come with me.”

“What’re we gonna do then? Whatever’s going on outside, we won’t get very far.”

“We have to do something,” he pushes. “Are you up for trusting the people who’re keeping us locked in here?”

There’s a mixture of anger and defeat in her as she sighs and tugs her hair over one shoulder. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He lifts the window slowly, going easy to avoid any noise. She hands him a pair of scissors from a nearby cabinet and he stabs through the screen and tears it open. With her foot in his hands and one on his knee, he helps her up and out of the window, waiting until she’s steady on the other side before he hops up and flips himself over. Holding Danneel’s hand, he pulls her along as he shuffles down the narrow walkway to the other side of the block, away from the front entrance and hopefully away from the soldiers. 

They both halt at the sidewalk when they see that the adjacent street is a mass of debris. A few doors to the left, the entrance to the police station is smashed, glass littering the sidewalk and desks overturned. Just ahead of them, Marcie’s second-hand shop is much the same, two window mannequins turned on their sides and clothes strewn on the cement. Every other storefront they can see is much the same.

“When the hell did this happen?” Jensen mumbles, eyes raking up and down the street. 

“I don’t know,” she replies, clutching his hand tighter as she rests again him. “It was fine when I came in last night.”

Glass crashes just around the side of the building, and they both flinch back into the alley. Jensen takes a deep breath and slips a few inches forward to peek around edge of Clark’s Hardware and he spots three men fighting each other to grab items from inside. Hammers and crowbars are being shoved into backpacks, and Jensen’s about to join them when Danneel yanks on his hand and motions towards two guardsmen rushing up on the men. 

He pulls back against the rough brick façade and taps his head back on it a few times as he thinks quickly. There’s no way they can get to his truck, not without being stopped by the authorities, and he can’t imagine the waste of time walking all the way to his house would be. 

After four years in the Army, time spent in a true warzone, he’s lived this situation before. He knows what to do – more importantly, he knows what he’d do in the Guard’s shoes. There’s likely two out on each patrol, a handful keeping watch at the open streetscape of Main. Here on Second Street, there’s this patrol coming through, and he bets there’s another pair a block over on Third. 

He’s ready to lead them out of this mess when there’s a low growl off to the right, just around the corner. Danneel tugs on his hand again and shifts him away from the opening, but he has to look. He slips to very edge of the building and finds Jane Barker staring him down. 

The forty-something mother of four, a kind woman who knits her own quilts as gifts for the milestones of friends and family, is a shadow of herself. Her hair is damp and hanging in a tangled mess at one shoulder. Her face is scratched up enough that most wouldn’t recognize her. The dirty curl of her bloodied lips tells Jensen more than he wants to know; she’s gone after others and intends to make Jensen and Danneel her next victims.

“Jensen,” Danneel whispers, and her hand clutches Jensen’s in a vice grip. 

His mind zips through their alternatives: run back from where they came and be caught by the Guard, deal with quarantine and who knows what else, or face Jane and have some potential to escape. He figures their best bet is to avoid major trauma right here and be faster than the heavily armed men in uniform to race off to another street and grab a ride out of downtown. 

_Best bet. Definitely,_ he tells himself. 

Just as he steps towards the sidewalk, a shot rings out and a guardsman has his rifle poised for another hit. Danneel yanks Jensen out of the way as Jane Barker stumbles back, and Jensen can see Jane’s been hit in the shoulder, mighty close to her heart. But it’s still beating and she’s still going. She charges the guardsmen, and two other infected residents come into view, jumping out from a storefront a few doors down and following at top speed. 

Jensen turns to watch before he considers the consequences. The four healthy men – two guardsmen and two civilians – are no match for three infected who have more energy and little to stop them. Jensen takes the distraction as a blessing and runs across street with Danneel behind him. 

They race between Marcie’s shop and the used books store, arms dragging on more brick as they slide through, but they can’t manage to care. When they reach Third Street, there’s another patrol of two uniforms but they’re walking in the opposite direction, and Jensen leads Danneel right, running along the storefronts until they reach the end of the block and slip around the corner. There’s a pale blue Sentra parked by J.D.’s, and he doesn’t bother with knowing the owner or feeling guilty for it; there’s no time. He elbows the driver’s side window, ignores the vibrating pain up to his shoulder, and keeps hitting the glass until it shatters so he can unlock it and get inside. 

He reaches over to unlock the passenger side for Danneel and then rips off the under panel. Now that he’s ditching his truck, the keying in his pocket is useless beyond the Swiss Army Knife he’s carried since his time abroad, and he slices plastic and chops wires to spark the right ones together and get the engine revving. 

Danneel laughs with anxiety and when he looks to her, she seems horrified despite the crooked smile. “Like old times, huh, Ackles?”

He smirks for a second, his youth creeping up and reminding him of days spent racing across the fields and testing wires on farm equipment with Chris and Steve at his shoulder to teach him. He’s damned grateful for those skills right now, because the engine’s running and he kicks the car into gear. And he’s all too thankful for the fresh breath he takes with his small laugh and the thrill that they’ve got an escape. 

The car swings onto the street as he spins the wheel and aims the car towards his house.

Despite the burst of madness they leave behind them, the town becomes more desolate the further they get to the outer limits. Cars are stalled on roadsides, some completely abandoned, and others show a fierce fight has ended with a resident on the ground, bloodied and still.

Morgan Falls has never been a busy metropolis, but the stark image of a deserted town instills fear deep in his gut, but Jensen has to shove it aside. 

Danneel remarks on what they pass with dread evident in her voice. He has to ignore her, too, or else his mind will breed more horror. 

Get his gun, find Jared, and leave town are fiercely etched into his brain. 

Pulling into his drive, he comes to hard stop, and when Danneel doesn’t budge he stares at her. “You’re coming inside.” 

She doesn’t look like she’ll argue much on it even as she weakly insists, “No one’s around. Just be quick about it and I’ll be fine.” 

With a sharp look, he says, “I’m not leaving you out here.”

She reluctantly nods and follows him inside as he rips crime scene tape from the front door. Up to his bedroom, she stays in the hallway to avoid the sight of the room turned upside down and the blood stains where Hardy landed last night. 

He retrieves two of his personal weapons from the back of his closet, both smaller firearms than the one he carries every day, but Abel had taken that with other items from the scene. He checks the cordless phone at the side of his bed but there’s no dial tone, and he swears as he tosses it to the bed. 

“No phone?” she asks, looking and sounding scared.

“No phone.”

“What the hell is going on?” 

When Jensen faces Danneel, her chest is rising quickly and her eyes are surprisingly narrow. There’s something beyond panic brewing here between the two of them, and Jensen has no answers. 

He only wishes he knew what was going on, how it started, and how it will end. There’s the impending worry of the Guard and what else they can carry out. If knocking the Sheriff unconscious wasn’t worth a more than a second’s thought, Jensen fears how far they’ll go to contain this entire mess. The Guard could’ve followed them here, know where they are, and anticipate hauling them … wherever.

Worse yet, he has the nagging, damaging worry that Jared’s stuck in the thick of it. Whether as a victim or otherwise – he can’t manage to consider which – the stress is there all the same, weighing him down. His shoulders slouch as he drops to sit at the edge of his bed. 

He’s done this before, he reminds himself; he’s survived uncertainty. Time in the Army served him well in being able to sort emotions from actions. Yet, he recognizes this is all so very different; Jared’s the price here, and the only flag waving for him to charge. 

Jensen sucks in deep breaths and thinks aloud, trying like hell to get his head back in the game. 

“Miller said they wanted to take Jared to the fairgrounds, so we know where they’re going. We just have to get on the road and start driving.” He looks at her once he’s calmed himself enough to manage direction. “We have to stop worrying about everyone else. We go, we find Jared, and we get the hell out of the state.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he answers simply. Danneel still looks impatient and unsure. “Need I remind you what happened at the clinic with the Guard? Or with Jane Barker? I’m not seeing many options.”

She sighs and steps away, obviously upset by the whole matter. Probably more with Jensen and his certain terms.

Jensen’s ready to talk more on it and comfort her that his plan is the best, but there’s the rumble of an engine outside and they both turn to towards the front of the house. He can’t see anything from his window, and Danneel lets out a nervous noise as they move out to the hallway. They hear the front door slide open and Jensen quickly checks the safety and bullets on one gun then hands it to her despite her nerves. He creeps down the stairs with Danneel one step behind, and sets his gun by feel as he hits the bottom of the stairs. There’s no one in the living room, and with a quick glance around the edge of the wall, he sees the leg of a man taking his last step into the kitchen. 

“Stay right with me,” he whispers to Danneel, and she does exactly that. 

He holds her hand and aims his gun straight ahead, finger catching the trigger so he’ll only be a half second from firing. Slow, quiet steps carry them to the doorway of the kitchen, and just as Jensen swings into the room, the man jumps at him, arms twisting under and over, yanking Jensen to the stove. Jensen loses the gun and turns to fight him, and Danneel calls out for him as she aims the gun at them, but doesn’t fire as she keeps trying for a clean shot.

They tangle together until Jensen registers the shape of the head, hair, and glasses, and he shouts, “Hey! Stop!” wrapping his hands tight around the guy’s biceps to control him. A second later, Danneel’s yelling and rushing at them as they both realize it’s Jason. 

The three hug fiercely until Jensen pulls back and grabs Jason’s neck, inspecting his eyes and mouth and just about anything in view to be convinced that Jason’s healthy. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jason breathes out when Jensen releases him. 

“You’re okay,” Jensen says, if anything, to remind himself. 

Danneel is wrapped around Jason, and he’s holding her back just as tightly, eyes wide and scared. “Yeah, I am. Thanks for not killing me.”

“You don’t even know,” Jensen says tightly. 

“What’s the hell’s going on?” Jason asks, seeming lost on what else to say. 

“No idea,” Jensen answers. He pats at Jason’s chest then his cheek and smiles; it feels real. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Me too.” Jason’s face twists as he shares a look with Danneel then he looks up to Jensen and reaches for his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “Figured you were the best bet right now.” After a moment, he huffs. “What’s is going on in this place?”

“Don’t know,” Danneel says quietly, shifting away from Jason. 

“Where the heck have you guys been hiding?” Jason asks as he takes the gun from Danneel’s hand, looks over the barrel, and tests the safety. His skilled hands remind Jensen of Jason’s detailed stories of hunting with his dad through high school. Jensen doubts he’s touched a gun lately, but he’ll be better than Danneel. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you guys for the last two days.”

“We were at the clinic,” Jensen explains calmly. He doesn’t want to alarm Jason, even if he feels better having someone else with them. “And the Guard was there, taking over.”

“The Guard,” Jason parrots. Then, with a strained voice, he goes on. “The Army showed up in the northern fields and my parents were freaked out. They took off with some neighbors this morning.”

“They just left?”

“Yeah, man,” Jason laughs awkwardly. “You think my dad wants to face off with a whole line of guns? They ran off and I said I’d do the same once I found you two.”

“Is anyone else safe?” Danneel asks.

Jason seems hesitant to answer. “I haven’t really seen many people up and kicking. Where’s everyone else at?”

Jensen looks away, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “The Guard’s got some medical set-up at the fairgrounds.”

“For what?” Jason asks.

“I think it’s a quarantine,” Jensen says. Even though he’s sure that’s what it is, he doesn’t want to believe it.

“Jared and Bethany are there, too,” Danneel says. 

Hearing Jared’s name sparks Jensen to action. “We gotta go,” he says, leaving the room before anyone can argue. As Jason and Danneel follow, he can hear them talking about him, Danneel whispering about the Franklins and Sergeant Miller, the attack at Jared’s house, what happened at the clinic, and Jane Barker. Jensen can hear soft mumbles about Jensen dying to find Jared, and Jason sounds confused by it all but doesn’t prod. 

When Jensen reaches the front door, he can see a caravan of military vehicles kicking up dust a mile or so out, heading right into town, as another group of vehicles head right out. They watch them pass one another, but soon enough a few more random trucks are heading the same way on a road even closer to Jensen’s house.

He backs away from the door, jogging up the stairs to an abandoned bedroom at the front of the house, and pulls the drape from the window. Danneel and Jason join him and they watch a parade of Jeeps and Humvees trail across the landscape. There’s no way any of the vehicles would turn towards his house, but he exchanges a glance with Jason, and they seem to be in agreement given Jason’s disappointment.

“What?” Danneel asks.

Jensen lets the drape sweep shut and sighs. “We can’t go anywhere yet. If we head out and they see us, we’re done.”

Danneel tries to get Jensen’s attention, but he’s already pacing the room with worry. “We’ll be safe here, right?” she asks.

He throws his hands up with a jerky shrug and Jason slips a hand over her shoulders, pulling her in comfortingly. “Yeah, we’re fine. Right, Jensen,” Jason says with a push. “We’re fine here.”

He stops near the doorway and hesitantly nods. They’ll be safe in his home, he thinks. At least, he hopes they will. Most everything seems focused on Main Street, but right now, he wants to be racing daylight to track Jared. 

“We’ll be fine,” Jensen recites then motions at the window. “Soon as that mess clears up, we’ll head out.”

Once they’re in agreement, he leaves the room and halts at the doorway to his bedroom. Blood still stains the wood floor but he feels uncomfortable being anywhere else. He wants the room cleaned so he can settle in and find some peace before he loses his mind. 

Jason convinces Jensen to join them in the living room, he and Danneel each taking turns to watch for a clear time to leave as they sit at the couch by the window. Jensen stretches out on the loveseat, plush cushions that hardly see use are comfortable enough for him to sink down and put his feet up on the ottoman. 

Time drags on, and Jensen drifts in and out as morning becomes day and afternoon shifts into dusk. When he’s asleep, his mind’s full of half-lit memories and hopeful dreams of finding Jared as soon as they walk out the front door. When he’s not, his heart jackhammers with impatience. 

It doesn’t help that from where he sits, he can see through the window that faces Jared’s house and looks right into Jared’s living room with the drapes pulled open. When he tries hard enough, he can follow the outline of a bureau that holds the television he and Jared have spent many hours watching, dropping into Jared’s deep couch, and barely staying quiet through many a movie night.

He shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to consider how empty Jared’s house is right now. He doesn’t want to contemplate never stepping foot inside it again.

“Wait ‘til you see this thing,” Jared says in greeting, holding the screen door open for Jensen to enter the house.

The only guesses Jensen’s had to Jared’s home have come from quick glances into the foyer the few times he’s been on the front porch and once as he stood right inside waiting for a few eggs he was intending to borrow to fix dinner. He hadn’t expected the rich jewel tones in the living room, blues and reds and golds accenting the hexagonal space. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected much of anything for decoration just two months after Jared moved in, but the inside is surprisingly clean and colorful.

Just as Jensen takes his first steps into the room, Jared spins and smiles as he motions to Jensen’s left. “There she is.”

It’s a tall cabinet, taller than Jared, with delicate etchings in the tall doors. From their shape, brass handles speak of age but also care with how they shine. And the sturdiness and bulk of it fits right in with anything someone like Jared should own. 

Jensen starts to smile when he looks to Jared. “You did not.”

Jared threads his fingers together and flexes his arms with a grin. “I sure did.”

With an impressed look, Jensen moves to the cabinet and opens one door, doing his best to hide his own delight as he looks over the empty, treated shelves. This is the most animated he’s seen Jared so far, and the furthest he’s gotten into the home. It only makes him like Jared more, which should be ludicrous with only knowing his neighbor for five weeks.

The inside of the door has been stained, but it’s wearing thin. Jensen drags his fingers over the finish and stops when he feels a rough engraving near a hinge.

“Drove two days to get it back here, but I just had to have it,” Jared smiles. “I had to show it off now that I’ve got it. You laugh at me that I’ll never finish my deck, but I finished this.”

Jensen’s fingers trace the loose shape of Jared’s name with two others, and he looks up to Jared. “Gerry and Jeff?”

“My dad and brother,” he nods in return.

Jensen stands straight and gives Jared a curious look. “You had help?”

“We did it together. The three of us.”

“So, _you_ were the help?” he lightly teases.

Jared pushes at Jensen’s shoulder, though he’s laughing. “You just can’t give me a break, can you?”

“I would if I could,” Jensen offers with a shrug. But then he’s back to admiring the bureau. Even if Jared merely handed over screwdrivers and sorted nails, the piece is a thing of beauty.

When they’re settled on Jared’s furniture – Jensen in the corner of the couch and Jared’s legs stretched far past the edge of the cozy armchair – Jensen runs his thumb over the lip of his glass of lemonade. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen,” Jared nods and smiles softly. “I helped line up the shelving after Jeff and I built the body. My dad mostly worked on the doors and the hinges. He could carve better than anything you’ve ever seen.”

“Could?”

“Can. Still can,” Jared corrects easily. “He’s still around. He just doesn’t do it as much anymore. Maybe a little knick-knack while he’s bored sitting on the porch. Jeff runs the business now, but it’s stuff that’s more common and plain. He looks for quantity these days.”

Jensen knows he’s smiling fondly to Jared’s family stories, and he knows he should probably quit it, but he can’t stop watching Jared easily talk and laugh as he runs about his childhood memories.

“What about you?” Jared asks. “Family? Siblings?”

He stares for a few seconds before he can fashion a response that won’t ruin the mood. “Long stories, the both of them. But it’s just me left in Morgan Falls.” Jared seems ready to ask more, but Jensen cuts him off, asking, “How the heck did you get this thing in here?”

“Very carefully,” Jared laughs. “I still have the TV in the basement to put in and a few other things for the shelves. One day, I’ll get it up here.”

“One day will be next year,” Jensen chuckles. “And the porch won’t be done and the TV will be useless.”

“What’re you saying?” Jared asks with a sharp yet playful look.

He swallows, unsure how long he can stretch this visit, but he’s ready to try. “You want help bringing the TV up?”

“Really?”

“I’d hate to think of you just sitting here staring at the cabinet like it’ll entertain you all by itself.”

Jared rises and smacks Jensen’s knee as he passes. “Shut up, and come help already.”

It takes more time and effort than Jensen had imagined; the TV’s a hell of a lot bigger than he figured, too. Jared’s TV is a 32-inch box set that makes them fight the uneven stairs out of the basement as well as through the thin hallway beside the kitchen. But when it’s set up, Jared insists on snacks and more drinks, so he serves up a big bowl of popcorn and more lemonade. 

It’s the simplest of nights, but Jensen gets a kick out of Jared’s easy laughter as they watch mindless sitcom reruns for a few hours, and they both joke at the expense of the storylines and actors. 

Before Jensen knows it, darkness has filled the room. The sun has set and Jared must’ve turned the TV off and the lights down. He’s barely aware of Jared tilting his legs up onto the couch before he feels the faintest touch to his hair, and he’s left alone in the room. He blinks up to a ceiling he can’t see and tries to work it all out in his head: if Jared really did just tuck him into the couch and actually comb through his hair. 

_Ridiculous, no way_ , he thinks. 

When he can get his bearings back, Jensen turns over and slides off the couch, fumbling a step or two as he stands up. He finds Jared in the kitchen and dumbly says, “I fell asleep.”

Jared smirks as he rinses out the bowl they’d used for two bags of popcorn. “That you did.”

“You let me sleep on your couch?”

“Yeah,” he replies, still smiling.

“For how long?”

“Long enough to find it cute that the Sheriff cuddles into himself.”

Jensen sleepily groans and waves a hand out. “No, please, not _Sheriff._ ”

Jared eyes him oddly, stalling from the good-natured ribbing. “Not Sheriff?”

He puts a hand at his stomach and lightly grabs at his shirt to make a point. “When I’m not in uniform, you don’t have to say that.” Jared’s watching intently and Jensen blinks a few times to wake himself even further. He’s nearly berating himself for having this conversation, but at least he can blame his sleepy state. “It’s formal and weird. You don’t have to say it.”

“So, you don’t want to be called Sheriff?”

“Not by you,” he admits before he can take it back. Yet, the way Jared slowly smiles, Jensen figures he’s not too bad off. Jensen runs a hand over his hair, looks down the dark hallway, and then takes a small step away. “I should probably get home to proper bed.”

“Here, let me walk you out,” Jared insists, with a careful hand to Jensen’s back as he heads with him to the front porch. He squeezes at Jensen’s shoulder as they face each other. “Thanks for the help with the TV.”

“And thanks for dinner and all,” he replies lamely. 

“Anytime. Though I promise it’ll be more than just Orville and lemonade.”

Jensen smiles, trying like hell not to say anything more stupid than he already has. He salutes as he takes the stairs and keeps on walking across the lawn. He’s focused on not looking back and keeps his eyes to his own home. 

Except Jared leaves him with a fond, “Good night, Jensen,” and Jensen just _has_ to glance over his shoulder and meet Jared’s smile.

The second Jason sits up and starts to smile, Jensen doesn’t bother registering Jason’s words and jumps out of his seat and through the front door. He knows they’re good to go, and he rushes to the car. Danneel and Jason shoot him sideways looks, but he ignores them. 

They can finally leave, and look for Jared.

They don’t talk as Jensen drives north then west to find a connecting road that’ll keep them out of the major areas of town. It hasn’t been a full day since they left the clinic, but catching the setting sun and getting fresh air from the open windows of the Sentra make it seem like an eternity since being cooped up there. He feels free and ready to escape. Once they find Jared.

It takes nearly an hour to reach Route 40, and they keep going north to the Morgan County Fairgrounds. Danneel picks at a tiny hole at the knee of her jeans as she fidgets between him and Jason in the bench seat. Jason covers her hand to keep her still, and Jensen tightens his hold on the wheel and presses firmly on the gas. 

The moment the grounds come into view, Jensen’s filled with panic. There are a half dozen enclosed tents, and the white sheaths that should cover every side are sweeping with the breeze to show the insides are empty. Given how bare the area is, he’s not sure he _wants_ to find Jared here, or anyone else for that matter. The Guard, other infected residents, anyone could be lingering and be a threat. Or dead.

He parks a fifty yards back and the only sounds are their breathing and the whistling wind. 

“Where is everyone?” Danneel whispers.

Jensen can’t breathe with the fear overtaking him. The compound is completely abandoned, and even if he knew what kinds of signs to use to track Jared, he wouldn’t know where to start looking. There’s too much to search between these tents and another dozen sheds set up further into the fairgrounds, though most of them seem demolished from attacks, given the odd slants to the structures. Jensen doubts they offer many clues. 

He twists to face Jason and Danneel, taking a long moment to think even when he doesn’t expect them to have any answers for him. 

“I don’t even know,” Jason says, shaking his head. 

“Jensen,” Danneel starts gently. “We should leave.”

His sight goes out of focus as he looks through the windshield. 

“Jensen, buddy, come on,” Jason says calmly, like he always has when trying to warn Jensen he’s being stubborn. “This is getting crazy. We shouldn’t hang around any longer. Let’s just head straight out of the county. Or, hell, out of the state.”

With a small shake of his head, he answers, “No.”

“It’s not safe anymore,” she says.

“Then it’s not safe for Jared, either,” Jensen snaps. 

Danneel sighs with annoyance but her voice shakes when she says, “We shouldn’t stay any longer than we have to.”

“And Jared should?”

“What happened to him?” Jason asks.

Jensen continues to stare out the glass, eyes going wide with the memory replaying itself. Hardy went at Jared, and given all the time they’ve been separated, Jared could be like all the others. _No_ , Jensen tells himself, shaking his head again. “He’s fine. We just have to find him.”

“Jensen,” Jason says softly, carefully. “Did Jared get hurt?”

He clenches his eyes shut then glances over, eyes not quite making it to either Jason or Danneel. “It was just a scratch. He wasn’t hurt.”

“But he–” Danneel barely gets that out when Jensen cuts her off with a glare.

“He’s fine.”

“He might not be,” Jason says.

“You don’t know that!” After the outburst, Jensen takes a deep breath and turns to the driver’s side window, eyes coasting from the rear view mirror to the tents. “I’m not leaving without him.”

“Jensen,” Danneel tries with care, but he cuts her off again.

“This isn’t up for debate!” he yells, turning towards them. “You wanna leave on your own, then good luck.”

Danneel murmurs, “Just tell us why you,” then stops when Jensen jumps out of the car.

Jensen’s blood boils with their protests, but he ignores them both, marching to the tents and yanking a sheath aside to enter. There are ten or so empty cots, some without bedding, and the ones with are stained with blood. His heart pounds and he feels sweat form at the base of his neck, across his back, and in his palms. He runs from this tent to the next and finds it much the same, and he keeps rushing between them to find nothing left behind but bare tables and soiled cots. He races across the lawn to the upended sheds but finds nothing more than broken wood, hard plastic siding cracked to shreds, and more evidence of wounded people once being here.

He hurries back to the last tent and spins around, trying to log everything in sight. He’s not sure how long he stands here, feeling the quickening pace of his pulse. He wonders what’s left now – when does he give up, when does he accept that he has no clue where Jared is or what’s happening? Instantly, he hates himself for even considering giving up. He pushes the heel of his palm into his forehead then his eye to stop the budding tears. 

There’s a light sweeping noise of the side of the tent opening, and Danneel’s voice is even softer when she calls his name. 

Jensen shakes his head quickly and faces them, forcing himself to focus. “It hasn’t been a full day since he was taken. They couldn’t’ve gone far.”

Jason starts to argue but Danneel puts a hand to his side to stop him. “Maybe they kept going north?” she offers.

Hope blooms in his heart with her suggestion; she’s on board and she’s going to help. He smiles, no longer caring about the tears in his eyes or that one rolls down his cheek. “Yeah, exactly. If they went south, we would’ve seen them, right?”

After a moment, Jason nods. “It couldn’t hurt. It’s still a way out of town.”

As they walk together through the tents, they hear the crunch of a car driving over gravel. 

Jensen and Jason both pull Danneel behind them, and they walk shoulder to shoulder with their guns drawn. At the front tent, Jensen tucks himself at the edge of the opening and nudges the white cover just an inch to see J.D’s truck next to the Sentra. He waits for the man to appear, to make sure he hasn’t gone the way others have in this town.

J.D. strolls around the far side of the blue sedan with a shotgun in hand and eyes focused on the space in front of him. Jensen sighs in relief, because it had to be the same man he’s known all his life. 

Jensen slips between the sheaths and carefully says J.D.’s name, which makes him snap to attention with the barrel aimed at Jensen’s head. Jensen holds his palm out and brings his gun down as he murmurs, “Hold up. Don’t shoot.” J.D.’s eyes are wild but not fearsome. Jensen’s sure the man’s nerves are shot, and J.D.’s likely fighting to keep his sanity, just as Jensen was moments ago. 

“It’s okay,” Jensen says firmly.

“Are you really you?” he asks slowly.

“Yeah, I am, and I got Danneel and Jason, too,” Jensen adds as he steps closer and pulls Danneel forward with Jason following. He drops his voice to soothe J.D. “We’re all fine. And you look fine, too, right?”

“A lot of folks are going crazy lately. How do I know you three won’t turn?”

Jensen chuckles harshly. “If we haven’t turned yet, I don’t think we will.”

“Really?” J.D. asks. 

“I’m pretty sure on this, but you have to trust me. We’re just trying to find people to get out of town. You wanna help?”

The shotgun drops a foot and J.D.’s eyes do, too, coasting over the ground as he suddenly looks defeated. “The Guard took some people out of town. I can’t find Sam. I have no clue where anyone else is.”

“Neither do we,” Jensen replies.

“Phones aren’t working. No internet or even cell phones,” J.D. says miserably. “Can’t get help in this town. What the hell’s going on?”

Jensen shakes his head as he steps up to J.D., all previous threat dissipating as they keep talking. “I have no clue.”

“What’re you guys doing out here?” he asks as he considers Danneel and Jason, too.

“We’re trying to find Jared,” she replies softly, staring right at Jensen, who has to look away. 

J.D. considers Jensen for a moment and Jensen avoids any strange looks.

“They said they were bringing Jared and Bethany here, but there’s no one here,” Jensen explains.

“What’s your plan?” J.D. asks slowly.

“Find him, and then we’re heading out of town.” J.D.’s still regarding Jensen, but he eventually nods and glances at their vehicles. Jensen nods back and says, “We’re going north. Are you with us?”

His eyes swing up to Jensen’s and there’s a flicker of trust in his look. “Okay, yeah.”

Jensen sighs. “Alright, good.”

“We’re not far from Bub’s. I was heading there next to stock up.”

He gives J.D. a long look. “At Bub’s?”

“That man’s got a range out back,” Jason laughs. “You’ve never noticed it before?”

“I figure he stocks enough ammo to be armed for anything,” J.D. says. 

Jensen takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his hand over his forehead and tries to settle himself and think clearly. Bub has his own range set within the acres surrounding his store that he uses on weekends with his elder brothers and uncles, Jensen knows this. His mind runs through a visual of the place and he’s nodding while mumbling in agreement.

“Are you okay?” Danneel asks with one hand at his back and the other pulling his arm from his face. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Of course. I’m fine.”

She shoots a glance beyond Jensen then pulls him to the side, cupping his face and looking right at him. They’re out of earshot, but she still whispers when she asks, “Jensen, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” Danneel says again, more firmly. She runs her hands down his face then smooths her thumb across his ear, back and forth in a soothing motion. “What’s wrong?”

He takes a long, uneven breath and finally admits his fear. “What if we don’t find him? I can’t think straight and he’s missing.”

She searches his eyes and he wonders exactly what she can read in them. “Why’re you so upset about this? You’re doing what you can, and we’re here to help.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he says with more strength, trying to get back his confidence and nerve back.

“He’s your neighbor,” she says.

Jensen swallows roughly and nods. “And he’s my friend. We’re friends,” he says carefully, but it feels and likely sounds more emotional than he’d prefer right now. He has got to keep it together and he’s well aware he’s falling apart.

Danneel licks her lips and assesses him for a few more uncomfortable moments before she pats at his chest and smiles softly. “It’s okay. We’ll go to Bub’s then keep on looking for people.”

He nods, thankful she doesn’t delve any deeper. And from her gentle pep talk, he feels a bit more steady, energy drumming up from his feet, up through his knees and legs, and making him jittery in want of running on to the next spot.


	8. Part Seven

At Bub’s, there’s little to prove any part of the Army or Guard has been there, but there are a few regular cars parked in the lot – all at different angles, which alarms the group. J.D. and Jason run around the back of the building to hit up Bub’s shed, and Jensen and Danneel head inside, searching for supplies and perhaps a working phone.

In the store, overhead fluorescents flicker at an uneven rate, unsettling Jensen even more. But it’s quiet, so he considers the possibility that nothing is wrong. 

Except the phone is off the hook, just like the others he’s tried before. Nearly all the shelving units have been ransacked already and a light near the front of the store sizzles and audibly pops before fizzing out.

Danneel walks to the far end of the store for the bathroom, and Jensen roams the front area, hand coasting the bakery counter as he circles it. He steps behind the glass case and stalls when he sees Bub’s body sprawled on the floor. He’s facedown with his arms spread wide and blood pooled under his head. 

Jensen crouches down to the body and slowly pulls up on Bub’s shoulder to find his face desiccated like Jane Barker, Hardy, and Tim Franklin before them. There’s a smattering of shotgun pellets at the lower half of Bub’s face and across his neck, and Jensen has to wonder if maybe the butcher was taken down with his own gun. He worries for Sharon and prays she escaped before death could find her.

As Jensen stands, he catches movement at the back of the store, just a flash of gray in the corner of his eye. He pulls his gun from the back of his waistband and creeps to the edge of the counter, mouth dropping open with heavy breathing and the want to call out for anyone traveling with him, but he’s afraid to draw attention if it’s something more threatening. 

There’s a soft brushing noise from behind the last line of shelves and his attention’s keyed in right to the space, eyes sweeping left and right and back left again. 

“Danneel?” he asks quietly. He slowly steps out from behind the counter, tipping his feet just so to minimize the sound of his boots, doing his best to unlock his gun without the safety sounding too loudly. 

He creeps down the aisle, keeping his breathing as even as possible and trying to hear above the blood pounding in his ears. He hears another soft brush and raises his gun with his elbows stiff and shoulders angled so he can follow the line of his arm to his gun and aim right over the top of the shelf. 

There’s hardly any noise until he jumps at someone in the doorway who disappears just as quickly as they’d walked out. He huffs and lowers his weapon as Danneel shrieks, “Are you shooting me?” 

“No, Jesus,” he sighs, walking towards her. “I thought I heard something.” When he reaches the doorway she’s hiding behind, he flicks his fingers at her. “Come on, it’s okay. You can come out.”

When she steps into the doorway, she immediately swings at him, slapping open-handed at his arms, shoulder, and up to the side of his face. 

He’s shoving her away and yelling, but then he realizes she’s not hitting all too hard and he smiles, feeling absurd in the moment. He breaks into a soft laugh for the relief from tension for even a split second. 

She pushes once more at the back of his head as she passes. “You shoot me and I will _kill_ you.”

“Oh, calm down,” he chuckles.

Danneel glares as she keeps walking to the front door. “I’m going outside where people don’t point guns at me.”

“Good luck with that,” he replies as he heads to the front of the store. 

He’s intent to leave, finding nothing of value to hang onto and hoping J.D. and Jason have found something in the back shed. After one last look over the store, he’s about to step out into sunshine when he spots a dark handprint on the glass of the bakery case. On his first pass, the case had been absolutely clean. 

Senses on alert, he raises his gun. His elbows and shoulders go impossibly tight and his breathing incredibly shallow as he surveys the area, looking for whatever left that handprint. He creeps up to the front of the store and keeps glancing over his shoulder for any sight or sound. 

Something clicks and gears shift, a machine whirring to life. Soft piano chords ring out from speakers above and a gentle guitar picks through notes of an old gospel tune until Elvis’ voice fills the store.

Jensen spins to the jukebox in the far corner and there’s a dark figure huddled over it, ominous in the soft yellow light of the machine’s glow. His breathing gets heavily, and he’s sure that it’s louder than the words of the song. He takes a handful of slow steps towards the machine, but he freezes when the man turns in place. 

It’s his Deputy staring him down, and Jensen lowers his gun a few inches, fingers twitching with confusion and worry because Abel’s face isn’t wrecked like the others. But there’s something troubling; Deputy Abel’s still in uniform with crimson tarnishing the tan polyester. There are no obvious signs of a man gone wrong, but the little tick to Abel’s neck, his head flinching at random moments as he breathes far too roughly for a healthy man, tells Jensen something’s wrong. There are shadows dragging down Abel’s face but they don’t shield how his smirk turns far more sinister. 

Jensen clears his throat and lifts the gun again, setting his mouth and jaw tightly because there is no set-up in which he imagined having to point his gun at his Deputy.

“Sheriff,” Abel says with a voice like sandpaper. 

“Deputy,” Jensen replies, but he doesn’t dare move. 

Not even when Jake takes a few lazy steps forward or when his gaze goes to the ceiling and he smirks. “You know, I always loved the King.”

Jensen tilts his head, stretches his neck, and realigns his aim to Jake’s chest. There is no way wants this going wrong, but he knows what he has to do, if forced. “Why don’t you stay where you’re at?”

Abel tips his head much the same. His smile is dark yet playful as his eyes narrow. “Are you really out to shoot your Deputy?”

“I’m gonna do what I have to do.”

“It’s just me, Jensen.”

“No, it ain’t.” He has no problem saying it; he knows it from the dark, hooded eyes that won’t stop burning into him. 

“Maybe.” Abel takes another step forward and Jensen aims the barrel at his head, jaw tightening and teeth grinding. “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you’re right.”

Before Jensen can respond, Abel charges him. He gets a shot off but it doesn’t stop Abel from tackling him into a metal shelving unit that crashes beneath them, Jensen’s gun clattering to the ground. Being shoved back into the metal framework again, Jensen feels the stab of a corner to his side, but he fights through it and spins over to grab at Abel with the spike of adrenaline masking the pain. 

He lands two punches square on Abel’s jaw, and it gives him a second or two to shift over and reach for his gun. Just as he tucks his fingers around the butt of it, Abel kicks him away. He bares his teeth, bloodied at the gums and mouth wet with spit, but Jensen doesn’t stop because Abel’s gripping at him like Hardy had, fighting fierce and heavy. There’s no choice here and he clocks Abel in the face with his gun to knock him off then Jensen shifts up and fires two bullets right at Abel’s chest. 

Abel flinches with both hits and falls to his side, twitching with his last moments of life. 

It was all relatively quick, likely just five or ten seconds passing in the blink of an eye. By the time Jensen’s digging his heels to the ground and sliding away, Jason and J.D. are running inside with their guns drawn. 

Jason’s is aimed at Jensen, but he drops his weapon as J.D. rushes to Abel and checks for a pulse. Jensen knows there won’t be a single beat.

Jensen groans and rolls to his side, clutching just above his waist where pain slices through him again. There’s a rush of noise as Danneel joins them and they’re all huddled over Jensen, asking questions and tugging at his uniform shirt to see where he’s bleeding. He’s so far beyond the pain he can hardly make out all that they’re saying. 

“I’m fine, just fine,” he’s mumbling but no one’s stopping. Not even as he bats their hands away. 

Then he realizes they’re suddenly keeping space and won’t dare touch him. 

“How’d you get hurt?” Jason demands.

“He came at me,” Jensen grumbles. He winces as he shifts to look down at his side then he feels how the room grows tense and he looks up at them with confusion. “What?”

“Is he sick?” J.D. asks. “Was Abel sick and he got to you?”

“No, I’m fine,” Jensen insists then cringes as he tries to lift his shirt. “My side is killing me but he didn’t _get_ me.”

The other three share a look that Jensen can’t miss but chooses to ignore, not wanting to know what horrors they’re imagining after missing his fight with Abel. 

Suddenly, Jason grabs Jensen’s shoulders and holds firmly while J.D. holds his ankles. Jensen twists away and shouts at them, but Danneel gets into pull his shirts up. She releases a hard sigh, telling them it’s a true wound and not something Abel could’ve done to him. Danneel insists he’s safe, and he sighs, too. 

“Told you,” he complains, dropping his head to the tile. “Now let me go, alright?”

Danneel holds the tail of his uniform shirt against the wound while J.D. runs to the back office in hopes of a First Aid kit. 

“It’s a long cut, but not deep,” she tells him though she looks more worried than he’s seen in a while.

“No need for stitches, nurse?” he asks wryly.

She pushes down on the wound and he groans, but she doesn’t seem sorry for it. 

“Jake, huh?” Jason asks quietly.

Jensen doesn’t bother looking to his friend or the Deputy on the floor. There’s a corner of his mind that is so far in grief for what he’s done that he can’t form the right words. The rest of him wants to compartmentalize those worries until later, when he can breathe easy.

He closes his eyes and stays quiet while Danneel patches him up with supplies J.D. grabbed from Bub’s office. 

“Did you find anything else out there?” Jensen asks.

J.D. licks his lips and slowly shakes his head. “Everything’s cleared out.”

Jensen feels his muscles loosen in wanting to quit all of this, just escape from what he’s seen and done this past week. But, the way his body shifts, he’s reminded of the dig in his side and he whimpers before he can hide it.

“How hurt are you?” Danneel asks with a hand sliding over his shoulder. 

He grits his teeth and shakes his head to dismiss it. Given all he’s been through in his lifetime, not to mention these last few days, Jensen figures he was due for damage. He’s grateful it isn’t much, even though he feels a twinge of pain as he gets up and has to hold his palm against the area, warm through the bandages and white undershirt he’s now left in.

Outside, Jensen pulls the driver’s side door open and winces for only a second, but J.D. catches him. 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

“I’ll live,” he replies. And hopes.

J.D. follows Jensen north on 40, and Jensen knows it won’t take much longer until they hit a new place to search: the high school. He punches the gas with no fear for speeding, only for not being where they need to be in time. 

At the school, they roam the halls in pairs. Jensen and J.D. take the west wing and Danneel and Jason go east. 

J.D. asks Jensen about all that’s happened so far, as though he’s keeping Jensen distracted beyond the few times he glances at Jensen’s side to survey the injury. 

Jensen abbreviates the story, but gets the main details down. He’s not attempting to raise fear, just making sure that J.D. understands the gravity of the situation, who to trust and, more importantly, who not to. He’s working like hell, too, to keep his mind off of having to shoot his Deputy, to forget that entire scene, and ignore the dig of heat in his side. 

When they find another class room empty with no signs of disruption, J.D. looks at Jensen, eyes sad and tired. “I don’t think they came here.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think that, too,” Jensen agrees with a long sigh. But then he stands in place and stares through the windows to the north, which face the staff parking lot. There’s just one car there and it’s been left at an odd angle. 

J.D. sidles up to Jensen to follow his gaze, and he makes a short noise before spinning and running back from where they came. 

“What?” Jensen shouts as he chases after J.D.

“Sam’s car!” he yells back, quickening his pace to race around the next corner and down the north hallway. 

Jensen jogs behind J.D. as the man keeps shouting her name and waiting for a response. He can hear and feel J.D.’s desperation; he knows it all too well since Jared went missing. 

More rooms are found empty, and J.D.’s voice becomes sharper the longer they look. After traipsing through their wing, they backtrack to the Dean’s Office as J.D. is ready to start the search all over again. Jensen wants to argue that they’re wasting time: minutes that could be spent on the road trailing the missing camp and Jared. But he can’t. He wouldn’t accept it from Danneel, and he can’t force it onto J.D. now. 

They take another pass through the west hallway, strolling faster than before but flashing extra glances into each corner and behind every table and desk. Still, they don’t find anything they hadn’t seen before, and J.D. jogs back to the center of the building and insists they try again. 

Just as Jensen sighs and walks into the hallway, J.D. steps back to the office, yanking the door open and rushing inside. Jensen hears the jangle of keys and when he follows, there’s a whole ring of them dangling from the lock. Jensen shuffles between the front desk and waiting areas, and in and out of counselor’s offices until he finds J.D. in the back supply closet. 

Warmth spreads through him at the sight of J.D. crouched on the ground with Samantha, arms tight around each other, and J.D. kissing the side of her head again and again. Jensen’s overjoyed at the reunion, thankful that the repeated passes had yielded this moment for J.D. 

For all the people he’s seen dead this week – some at his own hand – he’s all too happy to have found another person safe.

At the same time, worry gnaws at him, and his mind wanders to the chance that he won’t find Jared, or that he will, but not alive. Or, worse yet, turned. 

Jensen drops to the edge of the closest desk, cringing with the pain in his side, for how his hip still hurts from the fight at Bub’s. He keeps his gun in his right hand and lightly holds his side, eyes dropping to the carpet as he gives J.D. and Samantha their moment. Idly, he pushes pens and papers cross the desk pad to reach for the phone. It’s dead and he flicks a whole row of pencils off the desk in annoyance. 

He shuts his eyes and curses the rumble of his stomach and sharp pain of a headache brewing on top of how his bones scream for peace. He’s tired and sore and altogether worn out, but there’s no way he’s giving up. His heart won’t let him quit on Jared. 

Mentally forcing himself forward, he focuses on the image of Jared’s smile, the sound of his laughter, the feel of a hand on his shoulder. He can’t let his mind wander over thoughts of what shape Jared might be in now, because he swears that he will find Jared and get them out of this town.

When Maggie hears July brings Jared’s birthday – and his thirtieth at that – she talks the Manns into hosting one of their famous summer barbeques in his honor. One of Jensen’s few friends left in town, Jason never looks far for a reason to invite half the town over for fresh grilling and ice cold beer, so Jensen’s not surprised how quickly it comes together.

Jensen shows late after arguing with himself over the whole ordeal. As Sheriff, he could make an appearance, wish Jared a good birthday, and be done with it. As a friend of the host, he’s expected to party with the best of them. And as the guest of honor’s neighbor, as someone who’s been sharing small conversations with Jared for the past few weeks, he knows he should definitely attend and add to the celebration. But something halts him, confusion filling him at what role he should really play, and for what to expect in seeing Jared away from their homes. 

When Jason bumps Jensen’s shoulder, hands him a beer, and demands he head inside to grab the next pack of steaks, Jensen simply tips the brim of his hat and smiles, falling into step as Jason’s friend. 

As the evening wears on, he says his Happy Birthday and chats with Jared for a few minutes before Maggie drags Jared over to another single Morgan Falls resident. It seems as though her life’s goals are to gossip about everyone in town and then marry them off. 

Jensen spends most of the evening in a lawn chair with his legs kicked out and ankles crossed, hands holding a beer that he drinks slowly, and his hat tugged down tight. It shields the sharp setting sun and an even brighter smile that Jared has for all the guests. It’s a smile that ramps up Jensen’s pulse, but he doesn’t need anyone to realize that. 

At times, though, Jared’s smile seems put-on, especially when Jared is cornered by Maggie and her parade of possibilities. Jensen merely laughs at the scene and chuckles harder when Danneel sits beside him with a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes after escaping Maggie herself.

“She never stops does she?” Danneel asks.

Jensen tips his head back to watch Danneel shift in the seat with her legs crossed sharply and both arms settling at the armrest closest Jensen. “Maybe she smells your desperation.”

Danneel shoves his shoulder and tsks at him, but she’s smirking when she settles again. “Whatever. I’m absolutely content.”

“Absolutely,” he repeats with a hint of mockery. After a bit of silence, Jensen realizes that they’re both staring at the sight of Maggie introducing Anna Tyler, a 20-something who’s become the town’s resident daytime nanny and weekend babysitter. She always has the sweetest of smiles and friendliest demeanor at all times. Coming from the Sheriff, Anna seems perfectly fine; as a fellow Morgan Falls resident, Jensen tends to question her sanity. 

“Jared and Anna. Really?” Danneel asks quietly. 

Jensen watches the introductions, light banter, and shared grins and laughter. He immediately takes a long drag from his bottle to distract himself. It’s warm and burns a little, but so does the way Jared flirts with Anna. “Well, they both smile a lot.”

“Huh.” Danneel makes a face in consideration then says, “I never noticed that before.” More minutes pass of Jared and Anna talking, still chuckling with one another, and Danneel scowls a little. “If I have to deal with a new smug couple and an even more smug Maggie, I don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be pretty.”

Jensen eyes her. “You are aware you’re telling the Sheriff you’re planning murder?”

“I didn’t say murder,” she replies sweetly. “Merely thinking out loud about something less sinister if Jared and Anna become the next arrogant couple.”

“Don’t even worry about those two,” Jason says as he joins the conversation and leans on the back of Danneel’s chair. 

“Why’s that?” she asks as she and Jensen both tip their heads up to Jason. 

“I’ve heard things.”

Jensen’s chest expands with relief that he’s nearly ashamed of. But he wisely keeps silent to let Danneel to be the one to ask, “What kinds of things?”

“Like, Anna’s not interested in people like Jared.”

Danneel snorts. “What? Tall and good looking? They’re not a dime a dozen around here, ya know.”

Jason laughs back, but it’s tinged with aggravation. Jensen knows Jason well enough to hear it. “There’s me and Jensen.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” Danneel says flatly. One eyebrow angles sharply as she looks at Jensen. “And he’s the Sheriff. No one’s gonna go there.”

“People go there,” Jensen grumbles before taking the last sip of his too-warm beer. 

She leans at the edge of her chair again and grins at him. “Like when?”

“Can I get another beer?” he asks, motioning his empty at Jason. 

“No. I wanna hear this,” Jason says, crossing his arms with a lazy smile. 

The answer would be at least a year. He drove for nearly two hours to hit a population big enough to go unrecognized and enjoy a bar where he could be something other than a uniform. But he can’t tell that tale. Not here. 

Jensen decides to deflect again, and he gives them both a skeptical look. “I think Jason’s just worried Anna’s talking to someone other than him.” Danneel laughs heartily and Jensen adds on, “Or maybe you’re hurt Jared’s not falling at your feet.”

It’s Jason’s turn to snicker and Danneel’s speechless until she manages to turn and smack Jason in the gut, which makes him grunt then go silent. 

Jensen smirks and turns back to the scene to catch Jared watching them, not paying much attention to Anna at all. Beyond a random nod or his minor smile, his eyes are right on Jensen, and Jensen can’t ignore it. 

That is, until Jason and Danneel bicker over who’s more jealous at the moment and why, and Danneel finally rises and huffs. “I don’t care either way. Jensen can have them both, given his dry spell.” When Jensen looks insulted, she gives him a surprisingly kind smile. “You want another beer, sweetie?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer and drags Jason with her back to the house with Jensen shifting to watch them. He catches Jason giving her room to move up the stairs first and then patting at her lower back as they walk through the door. Jensen’s thoughtful about that for a moment, but he can’t dwell on it because Jared takes Danneel’s seat and drums his fingers at the arm rests. 

“You start some kind of fight here, Sheriff?”

Jensen stares at Jared’s tiny smirk until he’s got one himself. “I thought I said no Sheriff after hours?”

“Okay,” Jared says slowly before licking his lips and putting on a wide grin. “Did you start some kind of fight here, _Jensen_?”

He tries to ignore the way Jared’s inflection gets under his skin. He chuckles as he reclines in his chair. “No, but you did.”

Jared looks over his shoulder and then back at Jensen, clearly confused. “What did I do?”

“You let Maggie drag you around the party, and then talked to Anna Tyler, and liked other people, and I don’t know, something else,” Jensen mumbles, drifting off when he realizes he’d been rambling. 

With a strange glance, Jared replies, “I didn’t really want to talk to Anna Tyler, if that helps.”

“Maybe. You’d have to ask Danneel, I guess.”

“And why’s Jason mad?”

“Because Danneel was? I don’t know,” he says as he waves it off, wanting so badly to shut up and wishing that he had a fresh beer to focus on instead of this topic. 

Jared looks over his shoulder to where Jason and Danneel had gone, and then faces Jensen again. “Really? Those two?”

“I have no clue, just a guess,” he says easily. Suddenly, he snaps to attention and fires Jared a stern look. “But you didn’t hear it from me. I hate gossip.”

Jared grins. “Clearly.”

Jensen pulls his hat off, runs a hand over his hair, and tugs the cap back in place. “It’s just, everyone talks around here. You can’t tell a soul one secret. It gets out, and fast.”

“Yeah, I get that feeling,” Jared says quietly. A moment later, he’s back to smiling, small and mischievous, as he leans on the armrest closet Jensen. “What kind of secrets would they have on the Sheriff?”

“Ones that’ll get you jailed,” he answers firmly, but then he can’t help the tiny smile working its way on his face. Or how his cheeks warm to Jared’s slight grin and nod.

“Alright. Fair enough. You’re a lockbox and there’s no getting in.”

A cold beer is pressed against his shoulder and Danneel’s smiling down at him. He takes it as he replies, “Something like that.” Before he can thank her, she’s off to another conversation across the yard. It’s then that Jensen glances around and realizes no one is within twenty feet, as if he and Jared have been given room to have this moment. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Jared whispers, also realizing the sudden space around them. 

No one is giving them odd looks or carrying on in whispers, but Jensen still can’t be eased by the lack of attention. If anything, he grows more paranoid that the other guests know he wants to do more than have a playful conversation with Jared, do more than show up to birthday parties, and live next door to him. 

Jared’s voice cuts through his thoughts with a low tone that makes Jensen’s hairs stand on end. “Or is everyone afraid of the Sheriff?”

Jensen turns back to a soft smile from Jared and thick air between them, and he has to ignore the fact that Jared keeps calling him Sheriff even when he’s insisted otherwise. There’s a good kind of burn beneath his skin, and he returns the fond look. “Are you?”

The tell-tale slide of Jared’s eyes down his face speaks more than any interaction they’ve had before. “Not at all.”

Jensen brings his beer to his mouth and positions it to hide his smirk. Even if he doesn’t have the nerve for action, he’s grateful to not be lost on intuition.

The smirk continues to sneak up on Jensen because Jared doesn’t leave his side for the rest of the night, whether they talk or not, and they both seem to stay longer than originally planned.

His eyes open when Danneel rushes into the office with emotional laughter and hugs Samantha. Jason hugs her, too, even while they’re none too close. Jensen recognizes the joy of finding another person alive and healthy, to know they’re not all that’s left of this town. 

Jason smirks at Jensen as he settles next to him on the desk, shuffling a hand over Jensen’s head. “All’s not lost.”

Jensen braves a smile and nods, eyes tight on J.D.’s elation to have found Samantha and for how close J.D. holds her at his side. He imagines doing much the same if – _when_ – he finds Jared. 

Everyone else focuses on Samantha talking about why she’d run to the high school, escaping residents who were tearing through homes and had entered hers just before she fled out her back door and drove off in a stream of dust and gravel. 

She says she’d stopped off at the high school when she saw one of the Army’s caravans coming up the state road, miles behind her but still seeming to be a threat. She’d pulled into the parking lot and watched it continue north until it hit Interstate 21 and headed west.

“To the mall?” J.D. asks.

“It’s possible,” she replies.

“The place has enough empty spots,” Jason considers. “They could just set up everything there out of sight from anyone else.”

Jensen doubts it; he figures the caravan would just keep on west until it hit a major town and could disappear within a mass of other people. But it’s the only lead they’ve got. 

“Alright, we’ll go west” Jensen instructs as he stands. 

“Maybe we should pack up first?” Danneel asks. “Do you think the cafeteria’s got anything we can grab?”

“We have to head out before we lose more time,” Jensen argues.

“No one’s eaten in a day,” Jason laughs humorlessly. “Like you’re not dying for water at least?”

Four voices join together to argue him on it and he finally sighs, raising his hands in consent. “Alright, okay. But make it quick.”

It takes longer than he wishes it would, but Jason and Danneel return with a sack full of vending machine drinks and snacks for them all to share. When Jason passes him a cola, he has to admit that he’s grateful, and he smiles in thanks. The can is drained in seconds and he allows himself a second to smile at Danneel, too; she had found more packs of antiseptic and bandages from the nurse’s office and seems more than happy to be stocked up and that she can help. 

She cleans up the mess of a bandage she’d put together at Bub’s where they lacked good medical supplies. The fresh ointment makes him cringe with its cool alcohol burn, but he’s thankful for the change, especially since the one application has a numbing agent that lets him move more freely. 

When she’s finished, she hands him a granola bar – “They were out of lollipops,” she smirks – and he eats as they leave the building, feeling a bit of energy return.


	9. Part Eight

Another forty minutes, half of it backtracking to the Interstate, and they make the mall. Dread and anticipation war within as Jensen stares at a cargo truck turned on its side, and the front doors to the building are busted, glass shattered across asphalt. From where they’re stopped, Jensen can see a few bodies at the back of the cargo area and another one lying between it and the mall entrance. 

The other four rush from their vehicles to inspect the scene, but Jensen can’t move. Even once it’s obvious the man on the ground is not Jared, but a uniformed man, Jensen fears finding Jared on the other side of that truck or inside the mall in much the same state. 

Whichever way he’ll find Jared, he doesn’t have a good feeling about this. Too much time has passed. 

J.D. and Samantha inspect the cargo truck, shaking heads as they go, and Jensen figures Jared’s not in sight. The scene scares him into thinking they’ll find Jared inside with no life left in him, and still he can’t leave the driver’s seat. He watches Danneel crouch down and press her hand to the soldier’s throat. Five seconds later, she glances up to Jason but doesn’t do anything else; the man is dead. 

With J.D. and Samantha heading to the mall entrance and Jason staring back at him, Jensen finally gathers the nerve to exit the car. His legs are heavy and his feet drag like he’s treading through mud as he forces himself to follow them inside.

Their footsteps echo through the hallways and Jensen steadies his breathing so it’s not as loud or rough. His lungs go tight with fear and his palms are too sweaty to keep a good grip on his gun. He wipes his hands over his hips and thighs, alternating so he can keep the gun in hand. 

Danneel brushes comfortingly over his back and whispers, “It’s okay.”

He can’t face her. He only nods and stops at the first storefront. Wick’s Sporting Goods seems empty even with its gate kicked in at the corner for someone to get inside. Jensen finds things upended near the gun counter at the back of the place. Bullet boxes have been ripped open with their contents scattered. The case to the left is shattered and Jensen counts two guys and three knives missing. Jensen can only pray it’s from untouched civilians trying to protect themselves. 

Jason joins him with wide eyes and a long look. “What do you think …”

Jensen takes in the store again and logs a few hangers left empty on wall racks where t-shirts are on display, and he imagines people changing from damaged clothes. “Maybe someone turned in the truck and the others came through here.” He drags fingers at the edge of the display case. “They probably packed up to protect themselves.”

“Do you think Jared did, too? Maybe they’ll all safe and armed?”

 _I hope so_ , he thinks. Then he eyes the strewn bullets and wants to shake his head, but he can’t manage much of a reaction just yet. “Maybe he’d grab a knife.”

“That’s good, right?” Jason says, more like he’s trying to assure Jensen.

He counts silent seconds as he takes in the entirety of the store and the eerie emptiness to the mall. “It’s too quiet here,” Jensen mumbles.

“That’s probably a good sign.”

“It’s never a good sign.”

Jason gives him a tired look. “Samantha said there were three trucks in the caravan, and there’s only one outside,” he points out. “Sixty-six percent chance he’s still out there.”

“Yeah,” he says listlessly. He’s not sure if he’d prefer Jared in one of the other two, being carted off to God knows where for who knows what. 

He and Jason grab a couple knives and two guns plus a handful of ammunition. Jensen hopes they don’t need any of it, but he’s not going to ignore the comfort of being armed.

The next few stores are undisturbed, having been abandoned years ago and never filled again. At Swifty Shoes, the front gate is destroyed at the floor, just like the sporting goods store. At the end of one aisle, two women – just out of high school it seems – are laid out on the floor, bodies twisted far too much to mean they’re still alive. There’s a shelving unit tossed against the wall and a pile of shoeboxes with their contents beneath it. Samantha whimpers and points at a hand at the edge of the mess. J.D. and Jason slip inside to check and Jensen creeps up behind them as they pull shoes, boots, and boxes away to unearth the body.

His stomach clenches when he recognizes the tan uniform and Morgan Falls badge, and then he spots the _Off. Kelly_ nametag. Jensen groans as he crouches down to shove more debris away to see Kelly’s face. 

The eyes are unnaturally wide and his lips bitten down to the inner flesh. Jensen cups Kelly’s face and runs his thumb along a raised vein in the man’s cheek leading down to his neck, which has been sliced open. Kelly had turned and someone tore at his throat to put him down. Jensen’s twenty-four-year-old officer was infected and now he’s dead. Along with the Deputy Jensen shot an hour ago. 

He wonders how many others went down this same path: Sharon or Maggie, the Dunhams, any of the other families he’s known for his whole life.

“God damnit!” Jensen stands and walks back out to the main mall walkway. 

Danneel reaches for him but he shakes her off as he marches to the next store that shows signs of any action in the last few days. Now he’s just intent to log who’s here and who isn’t so he they can leave and head further west for Jared. 

He’s unsteady on his feet with rage and an overwhelming wave of exhaustion, but he can’t stop himself from looking through the drug store for anyone or anything. The snacks aisle is torn up. Bottles are broken on the ground, juice and pop spilled everywhere, and bags of chips scattered, but nothing else is out of the ordinary. The others are roaming the store, too, and they all share the same resigned look to finding the place empty.

There’s a soft whistle from the front of the store, a steady little beat that Jensen realizes is rough breathing. He waves at Jason and the two are on alert as J.D. pulls Danneel and Samantha back around a long shelf to hide near the back. 

With slow, quiet footsteps, Jensen and Jason walk down the aisle with their, guns aimed straight ahead for anything to come at them. Long seconds drag until they reach the gate again and they see a man further in the main walkway, crouched by a potted plant. His red flannel’s torn across the back, jeans a mess of dirt and grime, and his bloodied fingers twitch as he crawls off to the right, moving further from the drug store. The low whistle is more like a wheeze and the man’s shoulders rise and fall with heavy, labored breathing. His attention is elsewhere as he keeps shuffling further away. 

Jensen aims right at him and steps faster until there’s a ruckus at the end of the hallway: the last shop in the building. There’s the loud bang of the edge of the gate being kicked in and, in a flash, they can see someone sliding inside and another man rushing up to the gate, kicking at it and yanking up on the edge, and the metal frame rattles as he shakes it. The man in the red flannel races up to the gate and the two are snarling as they yank at the pieces that are bent up. 

Jason tugs Jensen off towards a bench to hide by the plants where they’d initially caught sight of the first infected man. “Can you get ‘em from here?” Jason asks quietly.

Jensen’s heart is too loud for his ears. He can’t see either of these two men, just knows they’re large beasts who would likely snap their necks given a second’s chance. One could be Jared, and Jensen’s legs refuse to move and his mouth’s unable to form a reply. Just when he’s ready to nod, they hear heavy footfalls behind them, and when they spin there’s a flash of pink scrubs as Bethany jumps Jason. 

The nurse’s assistant is normally a spry five-foot-two redhead who has a kind smile for anyone she treats, but now she’s a mess of blood and anger, growling as she attacks. 

There’s a war of limbs as Jason forces Bethany’s hands away from him, her long fingers grabbing hold to scratch his forearms before Jensen get a good hold around her shoulders to yank her off Jason. Jensen’s quick to act with a tight arm around her neck despite the flare of pain in his side. His elbow locks around her as he reaches into the back of his uniform pants to grab the knife he’d gotten from the sports store, and with one quick movement, he slashes her throat open. He releases her once her body sags, shoving her away as he breathes heavy and stares at the lifeless, ragged body. 

The two men from the end store come running at them. Jensen scrambles to his feet while Jason lifts his gun, shoots, and hits one in the shoulder a few times but it hardly slows either down. The one in the red flannel tackles Jensen, punching him clear across the cheek. Jensen twists in either direction to defend himself, and suddenly J.D. shouts for him to stay down and fires his shotgun with a pulse of pellets nailing the red chest. Jason fires at the other from just a few feet away and a quick round of bullets takes him out. 

Jensen falls to his back, head tipping to the side and eyes shutting. He can’t calm his heart or his lungs, feeling panic rise up, even as he forces himself to turn over and shuffle up to his knees then feet. 

“Are you okay?” J.D. asks worriedly, shotgun at his side and the other hand sliding over Jensen’s shoulder and chest to check for wounds. 

Weary and lightheaded, he presses his palm to the sting on his cheek and barely nods. “Yeah,” he sighs. He looks to Jason and his friend seems relatively fine, all things considered. “You?”

Jason rubs at the scratches on his wrist and winces. “They’re just surface cuts,” Jason insists then nods as he turns to look around them. “That has to be it, right?”

“Sure do hope so,” J.D. replies. 

Jensen looks down on Bethany and feels his chest clench at her lifeless body. If she’d turned, Jared could have, too, and he can’t breathe with that thought. He shoves it out of his mind and focuses on positive thoughts, insists that he has to find Jared healthy, and prays that he will. He’s at least hoping that if Bethany is here, then so is Jared. 

This attack also reminds him that anything can happen at any time and they all need to stick together. 

“Where’re the girls?” Jensen asks with sudden worry. He rushes to the drug store and is happy to see them huddled together at the end of the aisle J.D. had taken them to. “Hey, c’mon!” he shouts. “Stay with us.”

“You sure about that?” J.D. asks strangely.

Jensen looks over his shoulder with a wild look. “Are you crazy? You want to keep them locked up?”

“It’s about the safest plan we got.”

“We’re not leaving anyone, anywhere,” Jensen shouts.

“Yeah, and when one comes up from behind and grabs ‘em, what then?”” J.D. yells back. 

Despite the way Jensen’s mind spins with the same panic overtaking his senses, everything that’s just happened triggers his fight mechanism, adrenaline fueling him and anger spiking quickly. “There were five outside, three in the shoe store, and three here! How many do you think they had in that van outside, huh?”

J.D.’s eyes go hard and he marches towards Jensen with a hand up. “Hey, you can calm down for a second.”

Jensen shoves at J.D.’s shoulder, hackles rising and voice getting harsh. “And you can shut up and listen to me for a minute!”

“I don’t give a shit that you wear a badge-”

Jensen starts shouting back but it’s Samantha who pushes between the two, shoving harder on J.D. and smacking his chest. “Cut it out! Both of you!”

With a rough sigh, Jensen turns away. He’s fully aware he’s losing it. His emotions are fired up and nerves frazzled with this last attack, not to mention the anger of still not finding Jared. 

Danneel steps up to the group, and tries with a relatively firm voice. “Everyone has to calm down!”

“Great idea,” Jensen mumbles, and Jason punches his shoulder with a glare. He’s ready to swing right back but there’s something in Jason’s harsh look that makes him pause.

God, there’s not much fight left in him, in any of them. He can’t keep doing this.

Jensen lifts his hands up, palms out, as he steps back and away. But he turns back when he hears Danneel’s whimper, and he knows she’s looking at her coworker and friend. Jason immediately pulls her into a hug and hides her from the scene. 

As Jason comforts Danneel, bringing her to the other side of the hallway so Bethany’s out of sight, J.D. and Samantha step closer to Jensen. 

“We have _got_ to get out of here,” J.D. insists. “If Bethany turned-”

“I’m not saying it again,” Jensen growls as he glares at J.D. 

“Guys,” Sam interrupts. “We have to keep together, alright?”

Jensen sighs and looks away before giving her a chance. 

“Okay,” she says, a bit easier, but still her voice is tense. “What about that store with the busted gate?”

She looks beyond concerned, eyes large and mouth bitten red with worry. Jensen tries to calm himself and replies, “The other two were going over there.”

“Someone slipped in there,” Jason reminds them from across the way. 

“Maybe we wait for it come out,” Jensen tries, entirely unsure in the moment. He’s not up for chasing trouble, but there’s no way he’s comfortable to ignore what could be inside.

J.D. and Samantha head over to the store and Jason brings Danneel with, too. 

Jensen runs to follow, but feels overwhelming pressure at his side and his knees buckle with it. He slows then sits on a bench outside the store and lets them search it. He’s overtaken with dizziness and pain, not to mention worn down and losing the will to keep himself together right now, to stop snapping at everyone. One store left in this place and there’s nothing left to go on.  
“Jensen,” Sam calls.

“Yeah,” he replies without looking up. 

“Get in here!” Jason shouts from within the store. 

He rises and steps up to the gate; it’s been kicked in and tugged up only a foot or so, just enough for him to slide under. As he shuffles on his belly to get through the gate, Danneel calls out with an eagerness he hasn’t heard in days.

“It’s Jared!”

_Christ Almighty._

His heart bursts with joy, and he scrambles to his feet and runs to the back of the store, ignoring the pain coursing through his body. He slides down to his knees as he shoulders Jason and J.D. out of the way to find Jared under a clothing rack that runs the whole back wall. 

Jared’s leaning heavily against the wall and to the side. His shirt’s torn across the shoulder Hardy had gotten to, wounds ripped open again, and his eyebrow is split with blood drying at his temple. Jensen reaches beneath Jared’s shoulders and hauls him up, wrapping an arm around his neck as he pulls him to his lap. 

“Jared, hey, c’mon, you awake?” he asks frantically.

Eyelashes flutter before Jared’s eyes flash through cracked eyelids. 

“Jay, talk to me, c’mon,” Jensen demands with his voice breaking. He sweeps his hand over Jared’s cheek, pushing sweaty strands of hair off Jared’s forehead. 

Jared’s eyelids close and his chest barely rises with shallow breathing. There’s life in there, sure, but this is nowhere near what Jensen needs to see, or know, of Jared. 

His voice becomes desperate. His hold does, too, as he clutches at Jared. “Hey, it’s me. It’s Jensen. Don’t go out on me now. I fucking swear,” he pants out. “We’ve been looking for you all day.”

Jared’s lips part before a crooked smile lifts his face. “My hero.”

“Oh, God,” Jensen huffs out on a laugh. Jared’s breathing and talking and _joking_. Jensen folds himself over Jared and holds him tighter than before. “Thank God. You have no idea.”

Jared pats lamely at Jensen’s arm and mumbles, “I can’t breathe.”

Jensen backs away and presses his palm to Jared’s chest to feel a slow but steady beat and the gentle movement of his breathing. “What’s wrong?”

He shifts towards Jensen, head settling on Jensen’s thigh, and he lets out a long breath. “You’re smothering me,” he groans

Smoothing his hand over Jared’s face, he wipes the last of the damp blood at Jared’s brow, but he’s smiling at him, too. He’s looking right at Jared, and Jared’s looking right back. “But you’re good, aren’t you?”

“Am I dreaming?” he mumbles. “We’re alive?”

“No, not a dream. Not at all,” Jensen says. “You feel okay?”

“Yeah, just … tired. And … those two were coming.”

Jared’s voice is wrecked and he seems disoriented, but he’s speaking and moving, and Jensen’s heart punches inside his ribcage in exhilaration. “They’re gone. Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

With a few slow blinks, Jared focuses just over Jensen’s shoulder, and Jensen’s reminded they have company. He’s not sure he cares that the others are watching, though he knows a little bit matters; there’s still nagging worry about what his friends will say or think about this now. But he has Jared right here, and he can’t worry anymore.

“I’m the last?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

“Truck stopped off to pick up Brock and some others,” he whispers slowly. “But he went ...” Jared breaks off for a long breath before he can speak, and even then it’s with great effort. “I came in here, and I … I lost it.”

Jensen shushes him, hand gentle over his hair. “It’s okay. You’ll tell me later.” He looks over his shoulder to the others who are all staring with slight smiles, and Danneel and Jason share a quick look, seeming to question the entire moment. Jensen’s heart thumps at their wary look, but he has to move on from it. He can’t bother to consider explanations here. “Dan, go get some stuff at the drug store. Bandages and alcohol and whatever else. You gotta clean him up.”

She takes a quick look between Jensen and the group, and Jason speaks up. “You sure he’s alright?”

“Just go!” Jensen commands.

“Okay, okay,” she replies, nodding and pulling Jason with her before anyone else can argue. There are a few loud screeches as Jason shoves at the gate to lift it just a few more feet so they only have to duck under, and then they’re out of sight. 

Samantha tugs on J.D.’s hand. “Let’s get some blankets and food,” she murmurs as she steps away. 

Jensen turns back to Jared, thankful everyone’s spurred to action. Mostly, he’s grateful they’re giving him and Jared space. Except, he panics when Jared goes heavy in his arms. He tugs at Jared’s shirt and sees the wounds aren’t a major threat. He’s lost some blood with a fresh cut, but Jensen’s sure Jared will be okay for now. Jensen prods Jared’s good arm and brushes his hand over Jared’s face. “Hey, you still with me?”

“Yeah,” Jared whispers. Then he tugs at the edge of Jensen’s tee where old blood has gone brown. “What happened?” 

“Just a little cut. I’m good,” he replies. He feels _incredibly_ good having Jared here in his arms. He inventories Jared’s body and is beyond happy that there are no other signs of injury. 

It takes a grave amount of strength to ask, but he has to. 

“Jared, did they get at you again?” Jared makes a tiny noise, and Jensen thumbs at Jared’s collarbone, just beside the tear at his skin. “Your shoulder’s messed up again. Are you sure nothing happened?”

He blindly reaches for the hand Jensen has at his shoulder and his fingers lightly squeezed at Jensen’s wrist. “Caught it on the gate.”

“But otherwise, you’re safe, right?”

Slowly, Jared’s head bobs in a stilted nod, and Jensen breathes easy for the first time in far too many hours to count. 

“Can we stop talking for now?” he mumbles. “Just, let me sleep or something?”

Danneel and Jason’s voices grow louder as they return, and Jensen smiles at Jared, fingers coasting over Jared’s cheek as he feels his eyes burn with fresh tears. “Of course. Dan’ll patch you up and then we’ll sleep as long you want.”

Jared barely smiles, but Jensen’s more than satisfied with the sight. 

When she nears them, Jensen carefully lets Jared down to the floor and he steps up to his friends. “He’s fine,” he says quietly. “He just tore up his shoulder when he came in here.”

Danneel looks beyond him and bites at her lower lip. “Are you sure?”

“He says so, and that’s it,” Jensen insists. He levels a hard look at both Jason and Danneel. “Conversation’s over.” It’s tense between them until Danneel adjusts the few medical items in her hands and gives a brief nod. “Now,” he says softly, voice cracking. “Can you take care of him? Please?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “Of course.” She moves around to Jared, kneels next to him, and spreads everything at her side to tend to his wounds. 

Jensen scrubs his palms over his face and turns away from her at work, resolutely ignoring Jason’s questioning glances. He leans against a nearby clothing rack, shoulders hunched with his elbows resting at the top and his head tipped down. Finally, he feels his body relax as he lets out shaky breaths and sets his head down to his wrists. All these hours on the run and he has Jared back.

When Danneel’s done, she agrees with Jensen that Jared’s not too bad off, and they all concede to rest. J.D. adds drinks and packaged food to a small stock of items Jared had apparently packed into a backpack that he’d carried with him into the store, and Samantha hands over a flannel blanket she’d grabbed at the sports store. 

In minutes, they’re left alone and Jensen slides down the wall to rest with Jared. He leans into Jared then drags a hand over his back, encouraging Jared to turn towards him. 

When they’re settled, Jensen tips his head against the wall. He closes his eyes with a small, grateful smile, and falls asleep.

Once school starts, Jared isn’t around. Jensen doesn’t blame him. Jared has a job that keeps him busy. Also, they’re just neighbors, acquaintances. Who sometimes flirt, Jensen thinks. He’s still not sure about it all.

He _is_ well aware of their awkward pauses and false starts to conversations that could go awry, except one of them tends to look away and the other changes the subject. In the six months since Jared moved in, they’ve had their share of smiles that make Jensen’s stomach turn. They make him think there’s something else. But he can’t investigate this. He has to remain impartial, treat Jared like any other resident, and pretend he’s not in love with him. Easier said than done, of course. 

A week before Christmas, Jared invites him over for dinner, insisting he has a few steaks still left in his freezer, ones he never had a chance to grill. Jared claims he doesn’t want them to burn with the frost, and they should finish them off to help clear out the ice box. 

On a whim, Jensen wears a soft, fitted sweater and unearths a bottle of Johnnie Walker Chris had given him for his thirtieth, but has remained unopened for four years. He’s not intending to make this more than it could possibly be, but the effort lifts his confidence in general.

It’s cold outside, jacket weather, but Jensen jogs across their yards without one, hurrying through the chill. On the short path, he can smell meat grilling and he laughs to himself over Jared cooking outside this time of year. He hops up the front stairs, bypassing ones that are still creaky and stepping over the hole Jared had put in it the day they met, but has yet to repair. He knocks, but no one answers so he lets himself in when he’s left on the porch unanswered.

“Hello? Jared?” he calls from the foyer. The front half of the house is dark, but there are slivers thrown around from the back rooms, and Jensen follows them and the buttery scent wafting through the air. 

When he hits the kitchen, a slight, musty smell fills the room and he coughs into his elbow. He can’t hold the disgust for long, though, because Jared turns from the stove and smiles with a nod. “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I let myself in,” he replies, distracted by the scene at the stovetop. Jared’s melting gorgonzola cheese in a shallow pan with pads of butter liquefying with it. _Dear Lord_ , he whimpers to himself. It’s all so decadent, more than just a steak and potato. “After I knocked,” he adds with a smirk. “That looks good.”

“Thank you,” Jared returns warmly as Jensen joins him at the stove. “Just trying to dress the steaks right,” he smiles and nods a little.

With that movement, strands of hair slip from behind his ear and Jensen wants to tuck them back, but he can’t manage to do it. And he yearns to touch the smooth sweater Jared’s wearing in place of a typical cotton tee or button-up. He has to hold himself back if Jared isn’t considering this evening as more than just neighbors sharing unused food, even when he knows he’ll go crazy with the possibility hanging out there to be had. 

Jensen leans back on the counter and looks across the kitchen. When last he was here – helping Jared with his TV, and falling asleep on his couch quite a few months ago – the room was dank and mismatched. Now, it’s adorned in shades of moss and navy, a nice match for the warm wood flooring and the new butcher block table in the center of the room. 

Jensen steps forward and sets his palm to the surface, unable to help the smile on his face. “You actually did it,” he murmurs. “I thought you were kidding when you said you’d build your own table.”

Jared appears beside him, placing a warming pad and the skillet on the table, cheese bubbling and Jensen’s mouth watering. It’s such a simple addition to the dinner that he can’t wait to taste. “Just because I didn’t finish the porch, doesn’t mean I fail at everything.”

He can’t return much more than a soft chuckle because there’s an earthy smell to Jared now overtaking his senses. He doesn’t look up from the table; he has to focus on something not Jared. 

Through dinner, they sip the whiskey with grace and drink water in between, keeping their pallets clean to fully appreciate the flavor of the steaks topped with the gorgonzola and bacon sprinkled over baked potatoes. They talk and laugh, Jensen more than ever before. He feels warm and light with the liquor and Jared, his kitchen and everything about this moment. 

Jared refills both their glasses of whiskey and clears his throat with a crooked smile that’s infectious and makes Jensen smile in return. “I kind of have some bad news.”

Jensen shifts and nods with a soft, “Alright. What’s up?”

“There’s no dessert,” Jared says with some disappointment.

He’s ready to laugh at Jared, but when he looks at him – really considers him just around the corner of the table – it hits him that throughout the evening, they’ve been sliding closer to one another. Through all their easy talk, they’ve been leaning towards each other and he has the instinct to move back. But Jared’s not budging; he’s settled easy at the table with his elbow pointed at Jensen’s, just inches away. 

“No, that’s okay,” Jensen finally replies. “I mean, you built your kitchen and properly grilled a steak. There’s only so much you can do,” he muses. “I get it.”

Jared breathes out a laugh and licks his lower lip as though he feels the jab, but he seems amused by it. “It’s like you really know me,” he jokes back. “All my skills _and_ the weak spots.”

There’s a long pause as they stare at one another, air going dry. Jared’s his weak spot, and he wonders if Jared knows it. 

His mouth, too, goes dry when Jared slants himself to face Jensen and slides forward. Jared shifts only a few inches more, but Jensen tilts his chin up on instinct and parts his lips to breathe. Jared’s mouth opens on a tiny smile and he pushes up on his forearms to press a quiet kiss to Jensen’s lips. 

As soon as Jared slips back, Jensen rises and leans forward to capture Jared’s lips again. He tilts his head and closes his hand around Jared’s forearm to keep him in place. Their mouths slide together with wet lips and intent tongues as they quicken the kiss, and Jensen can feel his pulse hammer as all these feelings, six months’ worth of emotions, slam his brain and beg for more. 

He’s kissing Jared, and Jared’s kissing him right back with soft noises in his throat that speak volumes for the moment. Even as Jensen’s been a part of every scene that’s led them here, his heart is beating wildly with the excitement that Jared wants this just as much. He can’t imagine never doing this again and he reaches out for Jared’s neck, softly holding and pulling him in. 

Jensen rises off his seat to get even closer, and Jared moves with him. When they’re standing, Jared leans into Jensen and forces him into the edge of the table. His hand holds Jensen’s jaw and the other tightens at his hip, and Jensen wraps his fingers into the back of Jared’s sweater, thrilled at the smooth fabric under his hands. It’s downright exhilarating to feel the heat beneath it and the lines of Jared’s back. 

Suddenly, Jared pulls off, mumbling, “Hang on a minute.”

Jensen breathes heavily and his heart stalls in anxiety for having to stop kissing Jared. His eyes go wide while he waits for the next move. 

It comes in Jared touching the side of Jensen’s neck and a tiny curl of his lips as his eyes go soft. His thumb strokes Jensen’s throat and he practically massages his neck with the flat of his palm, sliding up and down as he keeps looking at Jensen like he’s mesmerized. Jensen knows the feeling, and he’s sure he’s looking at Jared much the same. 

“A good country boy like you should be kissed properly,” Jared murmurs.

There is nothing in this world Jensen would rather have done to him. “Then do it,” he whispers. 

Jared frames Jensen’s face with delicate hands and his thumbs padding over Jensen’s jaw. The heels of his hands rub across the column of Jensen’s throat, and Jensen can’t decide if he wants Jared to do this all night or push for more. 

The way Jared’s movements drag on, Jensen’s fingers twitch in Jared’s sweater with his impatience driving him mad. Jensen runs his hands over Jared’s ribs and closes them around his sides. He tips his head up again, all for Jared to take. 

With a tiny smirk, Jared nudges his nose into Jensen’s with a soft puff of air wafting over Jensen’s face before he sinks down into Jensen with a wet slide of lips. It’s a smooth, slick movement that alternates pressure with a light sucking motion until he slips his tongue inside. Even as the kiss deepens, it stays sluggish, filling Jensen with even more delirious impatience. He runs his hands down Jared’s hips and to his back, fingers pressing tight to feel every flexing muscle as Jared shifts and presses his body to Jensen’s. 

It goes on forever. At least Jensen swears it does, and he can't mind that one bit.

Pulling off but keeping close with tiny nips, Jared hoarsely mumbles. “I confess I’ve been wanting to do that for a long while.”

Jensen makes a soft humming noise in agreement, and Jared smirks again.

He slides his nose alongside Jensen’s, eyes dropping down Jensen’s face. “Thought about it a lot before,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Jensen replies breathily. 

Jared smiles. “You are so very eloquent.”

“Yeah,” he repeats, smiling along with Jared. His pulse races for entirely different reasons now: excitement, euphoria, lust. “I confess that I’ve wanted you to do that for even longer. Probably, I think.”

“The day we met? When you mowed your lawn?” Jared asks. “Because that’s when I wanted to.”

Jensen brings Jared back in and murmurs at his lips. “When you fell through your porch.”

Jared laughs, a warm stream of air that smells like the oaky liquor they’ve been drinking and something more like _Jared_ filling Jensen’s mouth just before they kiss again. 

He thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced. 

Jensen alters that opinion when Jared leans in further, forcing Jensen back against the table, and Jensen can feel the hard shape in Jared’s jeans, and it’s then that Jensen acknowledges the pressure swelling in his own pants. He grabs at Jared’s lower back and tugs at the waist of Jared’s jeans to pull him in tight. Jared lets out a tiny moan that reverberates through Jensen’s mouth, and Jensen’s mind spins with it. His chest goes tight and his hands even tighter then he loosens his grip and thinks better of this right here. 

He nudges Jared back a few inches, no matter how much he never wants to let go. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this now.”

Jared’s eyes are dazed and unfocused as he looks across Jensen’s face. “I, I’m sorry,” he mumbles with a confused glance away. 

“Just, you know, out of respect for your table.” When Jared’s eyes meet his, he smirks. “It’s a damn fine table.”

Jared laughs and kisses the edge of Jensen’s chin, along his jaw, and up to his ear. His hand slides over Jensen’s other cheek and down to his neck. His fingers drag at the short edges of Jensen’s hair as he whispers, “Will you come upstairs?”

Truthful and aroused, Jensen murmurs, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Jensen wakes with an unbearable stiffness in his back, neck, and legs. He can only shift so far with Jared still against him, but he considers it better than the alternative. With his slight movements, he disrupts Jared, who turns to his good shoulder, arm sliding along Jensen’s side and mumbling incoherently. Jensen leans in and wraps his arms around Jared, enclosing him as entirely as possible. 

“Everything okay?” he whispers Jared’s hair.

Jared’s fingers wind in Jensen’s shirt as he tucks his head against Jensen’s chest. “Is there anything to drink?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jensen answers with a smile as he turns away to grab a bottle of cranberry juice. Jared’s voice sounds more aware than before and, while he’s moving sluggishly, at least he’s got some strength in him. Jensen feels stronger, too; the rest has been good for them both. Together they hold the bottle up as Jared sips slowly then starts to drink more steadily. Jensen rubs between Jared’s shoulders, happy to see the effort Jared’s making. “Are you hungry?”

“When am I not?”

Jensen laughs and kisses the top of Jared’s head, keeping his face buried in his hair. “I am so glad I found you.”

“At the mall, no less,” Jared mumbles. “You’re so cliché.”

Another soft laugh and Jensen squeezes before sliding out from under Jared to grab a package of saltines just out of reach. He stretches, grabs another blanket Samantha left for them, and folds it so he and Jared can sit on it. Jensen stays close but is mindful of Jared’s shoulder and the bandages. They share the crackers and drink more juice as Jensen quietly asks Jared what all happened since they’d been forced apart. 

“They were testing people. Maybe a dozen of us were still there when they moved. A few went … off,” he says oddly with his brow furrowed. His sight is set clear across the room, staring at nothing, but he does continue. “Some went one way … others in one truck, and some of us were in the one that came here. It was all a mess over there. A few guys seemed antsy with their guns and didn’t really know what else to do, I guess.”

When Jared looks down to the bottle in his lap and goes quiet, Jensen tucks hair behind Jared’s ear and rests his hand at the back of his neck. “Did they say what they were doing or where they were going?”

“Somewhere north. I don’t know.” Jared finally meets Jensen’s gaze, eyelids barely open around dull eyes. “They seemed to understand what was going on, though. Like, why and where, and they weren’t coming back.”

“What do you mean?” Jensen asks with a firm voice before softening to Jared’s worried look. “They knew it was happening before they came?”

Jared lifts his good shoulder and frowns. “That’s what I got from a few things they’d said.”

“Like what?”

His eyes skate away and he shakes his head. “Like clearing the town when it was done.”

Jensen’s mind reels at the possibility of the whole situation; he can’t handle the implications of such a thing. 

Reaching with his good arm, Jared points at the pile of snacks across from Jensen. “Can I have another bottle?”

“Definitely,” he replies immediately. He grabs a few bottles and keeps them in his lap for Jared to take whenever he wants. Jensen has no intentions of moving from this spot until Jared’s full and ready, with energy up to task. 

After downing half of the second bottle of juice, Jared takes a deep breath. He pulls his knees up and seems to have a bit more life to him as he looks at Jensen with tired eyes, but they’re brighter than before. 

“What happened?” Jared asks quietly. His fingers are picking around the dried bloodstain on Jensen’s undershirt but never quite touch it. 

Jensen covers Jared’s hand to stop him, but also so he can touch him and feel the warmth of Jared. Their fingers twine and Jensen keeps his eyes on the way Jared’s fingers fold over the back of his hand. “We had a run in at Bub’s.”

“With what?”

He considers Jared and can’t imagine adding more horror to all that they’ve already experienced. But he also wonders at what point does _he_ deal with what he’s been forced to do. “A shelving unit. And Jake.”

“Jake Abel?” Jared asks, and Jensen looks away. “Jen, what happened?”

“He came at me.”

“And then what?”

“Danneel cleaned it up, we found Sam, and then we came here,” he replies with more strength in his voice. He’ll save the full conversation for a better day, when they’re not cooped up in the county mall and in need of a great escape. He squeezes Jared’s hand and can feel his face tighten with the want to smile. “And we’re here now.”

Jared’s face changes over from skeptical and worried to a smooth mask of acceptance. He softly smiles. “I can’t believe you found me.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Jensen pats at Jared’s thigh then slides his hand over the side and under to pull Jared’s leg against his own, desperate for the feel of them close together. 

“Hey, guys,” Danneel calls out as she walks towards them, with more medical supplies clutched in her arms. She looks worn out with disheveled clothes and her hair pulled back in an unruly bun. 

Jensen’s reminded they’ve all been through hell. Peace can’t come soon enough.

She smiles at them both as she places everything on the floor. “How’re you doing, Jared?”

As she crouches next to them, Jensen slides his hand away and watches Jared answer, “Better than when you found me.”

“That’s really great.” She looks at Jensen with hopeful eyes. “So we’re all good?”

“Yeah,” Jensen nods immediately. “We’re all fine.” He glances down to a bottle in her hands. “What’s that?”

She hands Jared the red prescription canister. “I found some painkillers in the pharmacy.”

“Thank you,” Jared replies kindly. “This is … thanks,” finishes with a lump in his throat. 

“You’re welcome,” Danneel insists. 

Jared nods in reply, fingers coasting over the bottle; Jensen’s sure everything’s finally catching up to him, this last day of terror and isolation.

“I can’t believe you guys slept on the floor,” Jason laughs as he nears them. He drops a boxed air mattress at his feet and shakes his head. “All night. You two are crazy.”

“All night?” Jensen asks. He’s suddenly unsettled without natural light or knowing the time. “Where’d you guys stay?”

Jason motions back towards the rest of the mall. “We checked the whole place and took care of everything out there. Then we camped out. J.D. and Sam in one tent, us in another.”

Jensen lifts an eyebrow as he looks at Jason and Danneel, but he can’t comment on it with Danneel moving to her knees and giving Jared a pleading look. “Can I change your bandages?” she asks him. “Make sure they’re all clean and good?” 

Jared shifts to sit up straight. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Between the clothing racks surrounding them and Jason unrolling the mattress to inflate, there isn’t much room for everyone. Jensen spins over to his knees then up to his feet to stand, stretching to crack joints and loosen muscles, but he still winces with a dull pain in his side. At least it’s easing up. 

“I’m gonna step outside to get some kinks out of my legs,” Jensen says with his eyes right on Jared. “You okay for a few minutes?”

Jared glances at Danneel, Jason, and then Jensen. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Jason turns to Jensen. “J.D. and Samantha are going around for clothes if you need anything.”

Jensen nods and smiles then he glances at Jared, their eyes locking in. “I’ll be right outside,” he insists, and Jared gently smiles in return. Jensen hardly cares how it sounds to his friends; he’s saying it for Jared.


	10. Part Nine

In the hallway, he reaches up high to cross his arms and tug on his elbows and stretch his worn-out muscles despite the soreness at his side. He twists at the waist and pulls his shoulders up, thankful for the slight burn in his back as it rights itself. A few stores down, there are the benches from before, now cleared of the fight they’d had, just as Jason had said they’d done. He checks the bandage at his side, and figures he’ll probably have a scar, but he’s living and breathing. Jared, too.

Above him, a small, triangular skylight lets daylight in, and he sits with his head tipped back to soak in the sun. He lies back on the padded three-seater, resting his feet at the edge and staring right into the pale light above him.

With his eyes up to the window, he runs his hands over his face and scratches through his two-day-old stubble to wake himself up. His mind is relatively clear, given all that’s happened in the past week, but he doesn’t have a clue on what the next steps are. What they’ll all do next.

“What’re you doing?” Jared asks.

Jensen leans harder into Jared’s truck, crossing his ankles and setting his elbow on the hood. “Nothing.”

Jared’s twisting over his shoulder to stare at Jensen even while their sunglasses block their gaze. With his camera in hand, the rest of Jared’s body faces acres of native vegetation they’d driven most of yesterday and a bit of this morning for Jared to see. “Why’re you doing nothing?”

Laughing, Jensen glances away and kicks off the truck to walk to Jared. “What do you want me to do?”

Jared raises an eyebrow above his silver frames. “You could enjoy it.”

“I am,” Jensen insists with a light smile.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Jared cocks his head. “I’m not convinced.”

Jensen chuckles. “This is your thing.”

Shaking his head, Jared turns back to his subject and brings the camera up to frame the field just right. “It could be your thing, too.”

“ _Nahhhh_ ” he drags out as he slides his hand across Jared’s back and squeezes at his hip. “I got better things.”

Jared smirks but doesn’t stop snapping photos; he’s set on his task for the day. 

When Jared had first mentioned this marsh and a grouping of four others that dotted the next state over, Jensen hadn’t imagined seeing them in person. But when spring break neared and Jared’s talk of the places grew more serious, Jensen suggested they witness the wetlands together. On day two of their vacation, Jensen had woken up feeling loose-limbed and lightheaded in the best manner: they were staying in an off-road motel hundreds of miles from home, and here they’re able to be themselves, together, without spectators ready to spread stories. 

Jensen has no need for Jared to explain his love for the natural environment or to detail the delicate nature of water quality and flora. All the multi-syllabic words spin in Jensen’s brain, even when he’s impressed with all that Jared knows. Right now, he prefers to watch Jared grow warm with the bright sun and the sights Jared’s been dying to view since he first moved this far east. 

He kisses Jared’s shoulder and rests his mouth there. “Will you kill me if I sit?”

“Only if you ruin the grass,” Jared answers with a playful scowl. “It’s a vital part of the environment.”

“So is my strength.” Jensen drops down to the ground, knees up and arms resting on them as he watches Jared at work. The camera clicks with every captured scene, and Jared licks over his lips then bites the bottom one as he snaps each shot. Jensen feels a burn run under his skin. He’s not aroused in the slightest; he’s captivated by Jared’s care for detail and dedication as he covers the whole area, bending down low for close-ups of blades of grass and standing tall for full panoramic views. 

An hour passes as a minute, and Jared joins Jensen in the grass. The camera is placed to the side with care and Jared pulls his sunglasses to the top of his head, dragging hair off his face. There’s an added glow to Jared’s skin, something reflecting in the sun that Jensen can’t name. Jared runs a finger over Jensen’s jaw as it drags along stubble that Jensen hasn’t bothered shaving these last two mornings, more than content to just get on the road and be with Jared. 

“You look good like this,” Jared says, voice simple and happy. 

Jensen nudges his head over to bite at Jared’s finger, laughing at Jared’s surprise even when he misses entirely. Jared pokes his finger into Jensen’s collarbone, drawing a yelp from Jensen, and they laugh as they yank and push on arms and necks. 

“Jerk,” Jared laughs as Jensen shoulders him to his back. “I was trying to pay you a compliment.”

He leans over Jared, bracketing Jared’s head with his arms resting in the grass. “That’ll teach you,” Jensen murmurs. Just a small shift and he’s half laying over Jared and dips down to kiss him. Both go slow with it, mouths sliding together and tongues taking long turns over each other. 

Jared slips his hands beneath the back of Jensen’s shirt and grasps at Jensen’s smooth skin, warm hands to warmer skin, muscles bunching beneath his fingers. Jensen slides an arm under Jared’s neck and wraps the other over the top of Jared’s head as he pulls Jared’s sunglasses off and threads his fingers through soft, wind-tussled hair.

In between lazy kisses and soft touches, they smile and murmur tiny thoughts that don’t have to mean anything. Like, if Jared could, he’d bike along the eastern seaboard to take in the coast and the entirety of an ocean he’s never seen before. And if Jensen had to eat one food for a month, he’d pick chicken tacos with extra cheese, easy on the tomatoes. 

Jared chuckles against Jensen’s mouth. “We’ll hit every taco joint in New England.”

“It’s a deal,” Jensen smiles just before reeling Jared in for another round.

They do this every day for the next three as they visit wetlands Jared had bookmarked months ago. On the way back home, they stop at any outlook point along the interstate and sit on the road rails for Jensen’s benefit. For all that Jared craves grass and water, Jensen appreciates cracked rocks and jagged peaks. More than anything, Jensen cherishes sitting next to Jared, doing nothing but staring out into the vast landscape before them.

Their week-long getaway is more than leaving town. It’s putting everything else behind them to just exist together.

He hears Danneel coming before he sees her. His senses are still on alert with worry, but he makes his jump up to sit seem casual as he leaves room on the bench for her to join him.

She bumps his shoulder when she sits, though she doesn’t say a word for some time. Finally, she flicks at his thigh and shoots him a crooked smile. “You’re a bit better at keeping secrets than I thought.”

Jensen lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “I could say the same. You and Jason?”

“It wasn’t too much of a secret. Maybe you were too preoccupied with the biology teacher?”

Jensen chuckles at her smirk, one where her lips are tipped prettily and her cheeks go pink. He’s happy to see her happy.

She leans into him and nods. “I was wondering why you were so intent on finding him.”

“Too obvious?” he asks. 

“I think you clutching his leg just now was more than.”

Jensen nods and laughs at himself. He glances at her and tips his head toward the store. “How’d his shoulder look?”

“It could use some real medicine, especially to prevent any scarring. But he’s good. You might have to carry the groceries for a few weeks.”

He snorts and turns away from her with a smile. Any other day, this would likely annoy him; he’s sure in the future it will. Right now, it’s comfortable and he appreciates the casual feeling between them. Even so, he rolls his eyes and elbows her. “You’re so funny today.”

Danneel threads her arm through his and squeezes. “This is all new information for me. Let me gloat and mock.”

Jensen can’t deny the way he’s warming up in happiness of her so easily accepting this. He’d always feared poor reactions, but now he feels foolish having worried. He tugs her arm against him and nods at her to deflect more questions. “You and Jason?”

She shrugs. “Who else is left now that you and Jared are taken?”

His head falls back with a breathy laugh and he catches the sun just overhead. It triggers memories of him and Jared out in their yards for easy company nearly every day for the past year and a half. He smiles warmly with the images, but then he starts considering their next steps. 

As carefully as possible, he says, “We can’t go back, you know?”

“Ever?”

“No one’s left in town and there’s nothing for us to do there.”

She focuses on her fingers tapping together in her lap. “So you guys aren’t going back?”

He can’t say for sure if he wants to, even just to see what’s left of Morgan Falls. “Who knows what would happen if we try. And if we could, there’s no way I’d expect him to live there after everything that’s happened.”

“Where will you go?” Danneel asks softly. 

Jensen can only shrug in reply, unable to figure out what kind of state they’re in now – on the run from the Army at worst, forced out of house and home at best. He can’t sheriff a town that doesn’t exist.

She licks her lips and steals a glance over his shoulder and back to the store where Jason’s still inside with Jared. “Jason’s parents went east to his aunt’s. Maybe we’ll meet up with them.”

“That sounds like a great idea, Dan,” he replies warmly.

“What about Jared’s family?”

“They’re in the Northwest. We haven’t talked about it yet.”

“You could’ve told me,” she says suddenly. It sounds less like irritation and more like sympathy. “About you and Jared.”

From the very second he’d felt something for Jared, the very moment they’d met, he’d convinced himself of all the reasons he couldn’t tell a soul. Not his brother or sister during catch-up phone calls or emails. Not Danneel or Jason, the two friends he has in town. Paranoia had commanded him to keep quiet about it, always fearing a day of too many beers and either she or Jason spilling the juiciest secret in town. 

“Yeah,” Jensen sighs. It’s a moot point and he refuses to spend time debating it now. His friends know and they’re all safe. Nothing else matters. He pats her knee and rises. “I’m gonna check on the patient.”

She makes a noise in agreement and rubs at his back as he rises.

Walking into the novelty store, he passes Jason on his way out. They share a small smile and Jason slaps at Jensen’s shoulder without a word. In the back, Jensen finds Jared perched at the edge of the newly inflated queen air mattress and tugging a clean, green camouflage shirt into place, one from the sporting goods store. The mattress is scrunched halfway to the ground with Jared’s weight, but at least it’s not the hard floor with cheap carpeting. 

“How’re we supposed to sleep on that thing?” Jensen asks with a soft laugh. Jared looks up and Jensen feels a load of tension dissipate at seeing him upright and wide eyed for the first time in days. 

“We’re staying here?” 

As gracefully as possible, Jensen moves across the mattress, settles closest to the wall, and leans back on the bunched up blanket from earlier. “Well, not forever. But I figured we would until you’re good.”

“What about the others?” Jared asks as he fidgets with the edge of his new shirt. 

Jensen’s certain that his own fear over their relationship being found out has rubbed off on Jared. There had been hints of it in the past, especially in how little Jared fought Jensen’s want to be quiet about what all they meant to one another, and eventually falling into step to just exist without pushing too much. He feels guilty now that Jared has to worry.

“Come here,” Jensen murmurs with his hand wrapping around Jared’s wrist. Jared turns over and stretches out along Jensen’s side, and Jensen runs his hand over Jared’s shoulder, careful for the fresh bandages. “They’re fine,” he murmurs. “We’re fine.”

Jared rests further against Jensen with his head tucked down against Jensen’s chest and his arm draped over Jensen’s waist. “For sure?”

“I’m sure.”

They fall quiet for some time, Jensen smoothing his hand up and down Jared’s back with his eyes closed, enjoying the steady press of Jared’s chest against his and Jared’s hand tucked just under his hip. No one bothers them, and they don’t bother moving. Jensen’s certain they won’t be interrupted at this point, and even if they were, he refuses to feel bad for ignoring any of them.

They rest like that for some time, and Jensen can feel Jared’s breathing evening out. He tips his mouth down to Jared’s hair and smiles gently. “Know where we should go?”

“Where?” Jared mumbles sleepily. 

“Remember that swamp? The one you stomped through up to your knees then fell over?”

“I think you pushed me.”

“Whichever,” Jensen chuckles.

Jared snorts into Jensen’s chest then rises up to his elbow so they can look at each other. “We’re gonna live in the swamp?”

“No,” Jensen returns. “Let’s just go back there. You can take more pictures, and then maybe we drive up the East Coast.”

He bites at the corner of his lip as his eyes shift to the left for a moment. “There’re some cliffs up in Maine. Way high up and facing the ocean, but they’re greener than you’d ever believe.”

“Yeah, let’s go there,” he says softly. 

Jared stumbles a bit to shift up, the mattress uneven with every movement as he tries to avoid using his injured shoulder. He bumps into Jensen’s nose but lands the kiss with a hard press of his mouth that says more than Jensen needs to hear.

Jensen points the Sentra south, heading back to town no matter how much his stomach aches. He has Jared slouched beside him and the world feels a bit brighter with his presence, but a new kind of worry grips him. 

After a few more days of restlessness in the mall, J.D. and Samantha had headed east with Danneel and Jason in tow. They were all content to leave everything behind and start anew. Jensen has grand plans to do just that once his duty fades away and he doesn’t have the conscience to return to Morgan Falls.

It’s a long ride, feels longer than any he’s taken before, and the fingers of one hand curl tight around the wheel. The other slides over Jared’s thigh, content to hang on for as long as he can. He had to live the nightmare of Jared missing and unknown for a day and a half. He’s had him back for four now, and there’s no way he’ll let Jared out of sight now. 

There are things to gather if they intend to exist past this town, and there are questions needing answers. He’s promised them both that at the first sign of trouble, they’re turning in the opposite direction and fleeing.

A haze of dust blurs the sunrise. It obstructs any view of Morgan Falls and Jensen slows the car to a crawl when they near the county fairgrounds where the makeshift medical stop had stood just a few days ago. All evidence of the tents is gone, and Jensen wonders if he dreamt it all. When Jared shifts up to look across the land, their shoulders bump and Jensen’s reminded of what they’ve both lived through. 

He glances out the driver’s side window, trying to will down the nerves that spike with the memories. When he squeezes at Jared’s leg, Jared rests his hand on top of it. 

“It’s gone,” Jared says slowly. “Like nothing was here before.”

He clears his throat and replies, “Yeah, I’m getting that feeling.”

That feeling carries with him when they edge closer to town and find the streets empty. There are no cars left behind like he and Danneel had seen before, and when they chance a look at Main Street, all storefronts are emptied of their contents, roads and sidewalks cleaned right up from all the debris and infected corpses he’d seen laid out while escaping the clinic. 

The town is completely cleared out and signs have been lifted from the buildings: J.D.’s coffee shop, Clark’s Hardware, even the Police Department. These buildings are nothing more than boxes that used to keep Downtown alive. 

Worse yet, there’s not a person or thing in sight that could have been responsible for the way the town’s now sterilized, and Jensen’s got no shred of hope that someone will return to revive it all. 

In the middle of Main Street, he and Jared spin in all directions to take it in. Jared’s hand grips the back of Jensen’s shirt, fingers digging into the fabric of a fresh shirt he’d grabbed at the mall. 

“I don’t know that this makes me feel any better,” Jared whispers, even when there’s not a soul to hear them.

Jensen’s stomach clenches with worry and suspicion. There are a dozen explanations for this, and not one sits right. 

He turns to Jared and breathes deep. “We should just go.”

“I thought you wanted …”

Jensen shakes his head and has to look away. The Police Department, his stand for well over a decade, is a vacant hole; pale wood has never looked so bleak. “I wouldn’t know where to start to figure this out. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to now.”

Jared takes a while to look over Jensen’s face. Jensen searches Jared’s eyes as well, and it’s dead quiet in the middle of their sleepy town. There are no words to describe how weary and fractured Jensen feels, except Jared’s face shows much the same. He can’t imagine what all runs through Jared’s mind, what he had to live through in the time they were apart. He’s not sure he wants to break any of it down anymore. 

Jensen palms Jared’s cheek, and he smiles lightly when Jared moves to the touch. It’s jarring that this is the first time he’s touched Jared in the sunlight of Morgan Falls, what little is left of it. 

Nudging Jensen’s hand, Jared murmurs, “Let’s go then.”

He slides his hand down Jared’s neck and rests it at his chest, tapping lightly. “Yeah, let’s.”


	11. Epilogue

They ride in a beat-up Chrysler LeBaron convertible from the early nineties with a tricky top that doesn’t always go down. Jared jokes that it’s because the car knows better than to be easy for two guys who are more interested in each other. Jensen usually shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but always hides a smile from him. For all that Jensen complains about it, he has to appreciate that the thing keeps running, even after two straight weeks crisscrossing 2,500 miles. 

At dawn in Savannah, Georgia, Jensen muscles the convertible top back and shoots Jared a tired look for being of no help, having disappeared for coffee. But when Jared hands over the piping hot, covered cup, Jensen leans across the console and kisses his cheek. 

As the sun sets over the Atlantic, they twist along 264 with the top tucked down and the wind coasting right over them. They follow the interstate south when for the past two days they’d been heading north, Jensen following Jared’s crude directions for the next place to cross off the list. They’ve been finding their way with road maps purchased at truck stops and are assisted by nothing more than a dashboard compass Jared had grabbed from a gas station in Tennessee. 

Jared directs Jensen to the right and they pass residential areas, slip through the town’s tourist strip, and creep right through forests until they can’t go any further. Jensen parks to the side of the dead end, but they’re both eying the walking path off to the left. 

They march in the dirt and when it dips with the land, Jensen holds at Jared’s backpack to keep himself upright. The path dips this way and that, but Jensen’s eased by Jared’s random chatter and his tight hold at the bag. Jensen finds himself constantly reaching for Jared now. Just some reassurance Jared’s still there, and he’s grateful Jared doesn’t question it, like Jared just expects it. 

“It’s an evergreen shrub,” Jared’s saying. “Grows anywhere from three to eight feet.”

“That’s quite a range,” Jensen says, a bit distracted by the rough terrain.

“Yeah, some are low and wide. But some form like trees. It all depends on how it’s crossed with other variations.”

“And it’s called what?”

“Atriplexcanescens.”

“Triplix-cana-sense?” Jensen says, only half caring how close he is to the pronunciation. 

They’ve been having conversations like this for eight days now, Jared operating like an encyclopedia of random natural facts, and Jensen doing his best to follow the words. Jared’s been spending a lot of time rereading his textbooks – both from his own college days and Morgan County High, pulling them out while sharing quiet meals or during lazy moments while Jensen naps or curses the poor choices for cable in tiny motels. 

“Close enough,” Jared laughs. “It grows right out from the rocks and lives on average rainfall, and its sex is -”

“What do you mean?” Jensen asks as he tugs on Jared’s backpack and smirks. “The evergreens have sex?”

Shaking his head, Jared chuckles. “No, its sex is identifiable by the flower. Or fruit. The females are showy with their fruit.”

“I would be, too. You gotta attract your mate.”

They hit solid ground, trees thinning out to sand, and Jared spins to face him. He keeps walking, but it’s slower than before. “Well, you already are a fruit.”

“That’s cute,” Jensen replies flatly. “You’re hysterical.”

“I know,” Jared grins, turning forward to walk right next to Jensen. “Cute _and_ hysterical.”

“So, where are they?” he asks, setting his hand beneath Jared’s backpack. His fingers squeeze into Jared’s shirt as they travel slower through dust and sand. 

“Out west. A few specific species are in Arizona or California only. But there’re some in Oregon. Montana. Idaho.”

Jensen snorts. “And there’s nothing you want to see in Virginia? Or, you know, some place closer to where we’re actually going?”

Jared doesn’t answer and Jensen goes quiet as well because they’ve reached the end of their hike, and the bay before them wraps around for 270 degrees. Crisp, rippling water fills the space and the coast is covered in wild flora as far as they can see. 

The camera doesn’t come out, which surprises Jensen. Jared just stares out onto the water, biting his lip and licking over it like he does every time he snaps a picture. 

They’ve been on the road for two weeks straight, having left Morgan County and most of what they’d owned in the rear view. Considering what they’ve lived through, Jensen doesn’t count on bad karma for having emptied cash registers in the mall and sharing it amongst his friends. He’d then made trips Downtown for extra cash, figuring it was close enough to what he’d had wrapped up in savings that was secure behind the thickest door and lock he’d ever seen in his life at the town bank. It’s been enough for now, along with racking up considerable credit card bills they know they’ll have to own up to one day, but he figures they deserve a break from reality right now. 

After that slow, eerie pass through town, they’d made a quick stop to each of their houses for possessions they couldn’t part with; Jensen packed up most of his clothes then grabbed a belt with a buckle his dad had fashioned himself as well as a gold charm and matching chain his mother had given him the morning he left for the Army. Jared had packed up his textbooks, a few changes of clothes, a couple photo albums, and little else. He’d insisted he could live off these items and would pick up things along the way as needed. On their way out, they stopped at the high school and grabbed a laptop and a few external hard drives to keep them company, stocked up on what was left of the vending machines and cafeteria, and hit the road.

The laptop first served them for news searches of Morgan Falls, but nothing hit. After a few days, Jensen insisted they stop hunting for a problem that didn’t want to be found, and suggested it be used for storage of all these new memories they’re creating. 

For these past two weeks, Jared has taken hundreds of pictures a day and downloaded them every night. It’s become their tradition to view them over coffee and donuts or juice and eggs. No matter how quiet Jared gets along the way, reliving all he had to experience, he still takes pictures and looks through each one with Jensen as they sit close for breakfast.

Right now, Jensen and Jared are still on the beach, and their steady breathing fills Jensen’s ears until the cawing of seagulls flying in and out of the bay grows louder. 

Jared tips his head back, eyes blinking at the sun and birds overhead, and he bites his lip again. Jensen wonders if the camera’s memory is full for today, but he doubts it. There’s something else. It worries him, though he won’t force it. 

After walking along the coast and picking up random stones to skip across the quiet water, Jensen sets his hand low on Jared’s hip and brings him into his side. 

They keep walking and Jared glances down to their feet as he takes a deep breath. “The bushes are in Washington, too.” 

Jensen stays quiet; he can sense Jared has more to say. 

“My parents are in Olympia.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jensen says softly, recalling times Jared spoke of his parents having retired to the Pacific Northwest, an area saturated in wildlife and sprawling woods that Jared has always sworn Jensen would love hiking through.

“I haven’t seen them for a couple years.”

“No?” Jensen asks softly.

Jared shakes his head. “Not since that first Christmas I was with you.”

Jensen rubs his hand up Jared’s back again, and they keep strolling. “We can do that.” Jared doesn’t ask for reassurance, though he does glance over with questioning eyes. “What does the girly bush look like?” Jensen asks, purposely trying to play. 

With a warm smile, Jared gets back on topic. “Golden tan with four petals. Or wings, really. They’re called four-winged fruits.”

“The at-riplet?” Jensen asks, actually trying to get it right, but he’s well aware he’s butchered it.

“In laymen’s terms,” Jared explains, “it’s the four-winged saltbush.”

“Now that just seems too obvious.”

Jared smirks at him, and Jensen simultaneously feels his heart grow with happiness of Jared slipping right back into his own joy for their travels. Then his stomach twists with dread of what Jared’s smirk really means. “That’s why it’s called laymen’s. You are a _lay man_.”

“Well,” Jensen says slowly as he gives Jared a long look. “You learned that one a long time ago.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Jared slides his hand over Jensen’s shoulders and pulls him in so they’re chest to chest. “I’d like relearn that. If you’d be so kind.”

Jensen wraps his arms around Jared’s waist, tugging him even closer, if possible. “Of course,” he replies easily, and tips his head up to kiss the corner of Jared’s mouth. 

There’s no way he can argue Jared on this topic, or any others for that matter. He’s newly consumed with finding a way to make it possible for he and Jared to make and reach their goals and stay together, no matter the circumstances or cost; Jensen will make it happen or he’ll die trying. He almost did.

Now he’ll have to get them from North Carolina to Washington. They’ll need more maps. And space for all the pictures.


	12. Timestamp 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utah and the Wasatch Front.

They've driven through dozens of towns, large and small, but this is the first time Jensen is triggered back home.

He doesn't know what it is exactly about Salt Lake City that does it. He didn't grow up surrounded by mountains, their town didn't have a building higher than five stories, and they certainly never experienced planes traversing the sky, as one does now as it heads for landing at the airport to the west. At least not any that carried anyone anywhere, mostly just crop dusters and the like.

As Jared steers the car north on I-15, they're bordered by the Wasatch Front on the right, tall mountains that seem incongruous with the Downtown city ahead of them.

There's just something about a town being tucked into nature with no out, except up, and even that's an impossible journey. It does him in, makes him think about what would've happened to them all if Morgan Falls had such limits to it.

He shivers with the surety that they never would've made it out alive.

But one pat of Jared's hand on his thigh, a tiny squeeze of Jared's sure fingers against Jensen's leg, and Jensen is reminded that they did, in fact, make it.

"You ready for some mountain climbing, old man?" Jared asks, and Jensen smiles, recognizing that old spark back in Jared's bright eyes. It's taken hundreds of miles and nearly as many hours to pull Jared's mind out of Morgan Falls, but Jensen's glad for the journey.

"Maybe some mountain watching," Jensen offers.

"You all wore out from yesterday, huh?"

Jensen nods, remembering the long slopes they took around the Grand Canyon. He stretches his legs in sympathy and feels the sharp tug of tight muscles that need more time to rest. He also thinks about how the mountain range still feels like it's closing in them, as if it's reeling them into a false sense of protection.

"How about we start heading west?" Jensen asks as he closes his hand around Jared's. "We can finally see some of the Pacific."

Jared checks traffic in the mirrors as he merges to another lane, moving them closer to a lane where they pick up I-80. He seems to take a few moments to sort out mental maps and their current location, then shrugs. "It'll take another day."

"We've got the time, right?"

Jared glances over with a small smile and Jensen suddenly feels released from the tension his memories were starting to wrap around him. Jensen smiles back then continues to as he watches Jared in profile as he drives, wind whipping Jared's long hair around, and the landscape passing them by - or them passing it by.

Then Jared makes the moment more beautiful when he nods and says, "We've got nothing but."


	13. Timestamp 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally make it to the Pacific.

The edge of the rock is dusty, little pebbles crumbling over the edge. Still, here they stand, atop a viewing point on the walking trail up this pocket of mountains in northern Washington. The air feels a bit thin but crisp with saltwater and a slight chill.

Jared stops a few feet ahead of Jensen, eyes roaming the area like he's cataloging the view. Jensen doesn't blame him; it's wide and all-encompassing for the Pacific Northwest. Jensen has never seen anything like the sprawling landscape of hard earth dotted with bright growth and snowcaps far off in the distance. Literally, he has never seen this before and he can't believe their luck to have lasted long enough to trek their way this far from where they were just a month or so ago.

Even more so, Jensen can’t believe how Jared is fondly smiling as he looks out on the terrain.

Jensen reaches back for the zipper on his backpack, but realizes Jared has the camera and yet he’s not bothering to do anything with it, stock still and staring at the land. Jensen hurries to pull his phone out then snaps a photo of Jared like this, hair softly windblown, lips pink and happy, eyes bright. The faraway mountains behind him provide a perfect backdrop and Jensen only hopes his phone’s camera does the view justice.

Jared seems to snap out of his moment and turns that fond smile on Jensen. It’s mesmerizing, really. Jensen had forgotten over time, sadly, how lovely it is to be smiled at by Jared. It’s been far too long since Jared’s looked this calm.

“Let’s go, ya slow pokes!” they hear from above and off to the right.

They both look up then Jared laughs when he finds Jensen’s sight again. “I think Megan’s getting a little impatient.”

Jensen smiles. He’s well aware that being here, with family, has brought Jared peace that he hasn’t had since before … well, everything else. “And competitive,” Jensen jokes.

“I’ll be worried when my mom passes us.” Jared holds his hand out. “Come on.”

Jensen accepts the help as he climbs up the steep rocks that separate them. Once on even ground, Jensen slides his arm around Jared’s lower back and squeezes his hip. He’s thankful they’ve made it this far and looks forward to going higher.


End file.
